


A Rose By Any Other Name

by RoseByAnyOtherName (badxwolfxrising)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fake Marriage, Forced Marriage, Gallifrey, Hurt/Comfort, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Smut, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 100,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badxwolfxrising/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alba Prentice wakes up to a girl's worst nightmare: she has been sold into the black market slave trade to pay her mother's debts, and escape is not an option. But what does the handsome Mr. Smith want with her, and why does he keep looking at her like he knows her somehow?  A Rose and Doctor AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Alba Prentice wakes up naked, disoriented, and terrified, but it doesn’t take long for her to piece together what has happened when she takes in her surroundings. Bodies are huddled against walls, against other bodies, wherever they can find space to be, as quarters are cramped. Her head feels achy and fuzzy, and there’s a funny taste in her mouth, which feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton balls soaked in petrol. She’s never been to one of these places in person, but she’s heard them described in the sort of stories that are not in history books, but are none the less accepted as truth. Stories about girls (and sometimes boys as well) who have disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again. Usually these teenagers and young adults were the loved ones of someone who couldn’t pay rent or a gambling debt, or owed money to a pimp or drug dealer. Andrea Prentice had been late with the rent again that month, and it seems they had finally decided to deal her the consequences by taking her only daughter and selling her on the black market.

A young girl holding a wicker basket full of tiny bars of orange blossom-scented soap is passing them out to the people in the room. The girl next to Alba just stares at the soap as though it were a piece of raw meat when the girl hands it to her. Alba takes a tiny bar of soap from the girl’s grubby fingers, and swallows hard. Two stern looking women and one man with a gun usher them all into a haphazard line, and then file them out of the room and down a long hallway that has no windows and only one single, flickering light bulb. She can’t help but wonder if she is walking to her death.

At the end of the impossibly long passage they separate the boys and girls and send them into rooms on opposite sides of the hall. Alba tightly clutches her soap like a talisman, holding it against her chest as she walks through the doorway. Inside the room it is dark and damp, but it looks mostly look a gym locker room, which feels very inappropriate given the graveness of the situation. Bottles of shampoo and conditioner sit in recessed cubbies in the tiled walls, and towels are stacked up in neat piles in the corner of the room. She doesn’t understand at first, but when she stops to think about it she supposes it makes perfect sense. They don’t want to put filthy, disgusting merchandise out on display, so they’re having them all shower first. 

Alba fiddles with knobs and dials, attempting to get the water to turn on, but nothing happens. She stands around lamely, trying not to look at the faces or eyes of the other naked women pressed in around her. Eventually, the water gushes on, seemingly of its own accord. It starts out warm, but becomes steaming hot in a matter of minutes. She thinks of her mother, her bed, and her home as she showers, going through the motions even if she isn’t exactly certain why. When the water shuts off again she takes a towel and dries herself off, and then stands, pink-skinned and waiting with the rest of the girls. 

Another guard, stocky and impassive, stands at the back door of the room. They are instructed to leave their towels in the bin by the guard as they exit. Alba is reluctant to lose the small measure of security the threadbare swath of fabric provides, but when she hesitates in its surrender the guard seizes it from her with great delight, leaving her naked and shivering, the reality of her situation becoming that much more apparent to her. When she doesn’t move right away, the guard further adds insult to injury by placing his hands on her bare bum and shoving her out the door, into another chilly hallway. More men with guns stand watch where the freshly showered men and women are reconvening in yet another line.

“You are about to enter what we call the ‘show room’. Here, potential buyers will walk around and inspect the merchandise. They might touch you, and you will let them. You will speak only if spoken to. You no longer have personal autonomy, so do not bother trying to fight. Are we clear?” a tall, close-shaven man with steely eyes instructs them. 

“No!” a lone voice rings out, and the rest of them all suck in their breath. Alba gathers that this isn’t the first time some of them have been through one of the slave exchanges, because some of the women and men are staring at the girl who cried out expectantly and with dread, as though they’re waiting for something to happen.

“No?” the man asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. He stops in front of the girl, a skinny thing with dark hair and huge grey eyes. “No what?”

Suddenly the girl is attacking, throwing herself at him with a snarl. He reacts quickly, but not quickly enough as she attempts to hook her nails into his eyes. She draws them across his forehead instead, flaying the skin wide open. Blood begins pouring into his eyes and he curses, calling her the sorts of words you’d only expect to hear in a whorehouse or drug den. He backhands the girl, sending her flying into the wall. 

A dazed look on her face, the girl slides to the floor and sits there, blood dripping from her lip where his open hand split it open. The tall, angry-looking man is staring at her now, his chest heaving up and down. He shoves his trousers down over his waist, down around his ankles and out of the way. Underneath he is naked and hard, and Alba can barely bring herself to watch as he advances on the naked and bleeding girl, his erect cock in one hand and his knife in the other. He forces her to stand against the wall with her legs spread, and he begins to rape her, holding his knife pressed against her throat the entire time. Whenever the girls cries escalate, he presses the knife against her pale flesh even harder. Alba looks away, but she can still hear the girl crying softly in protest. When the man finishes he slits the poor girl’s throat and tosses her body to the floor, and now Alba is choking back the scream that has lodged itself in her own throat.

He was parading up and down the hall now, his eyes wild. “Does anyone else have any comments or complaints? Anyone? ANYONE? No? I didn’t fucking think so, maggots. Remember, if you were worth shit to yourself or anyone, you wouldn’t have ended up here. Any time you get to thinking that you might like to try and escape, any time you think you might be more clever or faster than us, well just stop thinking those things. Because you aren’t. You aren’t faster, you aren’t more clever, you’re just useless as tits on a warthog until a buyer says otherwise. So you go in there, you look pretty, and you keep your goddamn gobs shut unless one of those lovely rich people asks you a question. Now move your arses!”

Alba looks over her shoulder at the crumpled form on the floor, and wonders sadly whose daughter or sister or mother she might have been. All over, just like that, all because she had been afraid. And who wouldn’t be? Although if she were honest, some of the other captives seemed more apathetic than terrified or anxious, which she couldn’t understand at all. She supposed if she had been through here more than once herself, maybe it would’ve taken the fear and fight out of her as well. She hoped she would never have to find out either way.

The show room is a vast and empty space, cold, white and utilitarian. Women in bustiers and tight skirts sashay around the room, handing flutes of champagne to men dressed in business suits. Trays of finger sandwiches and other hors d'oeuvres are also being passed around by the scantily clad ladies, and the incongruity of it all makes a tiny, hysterical little laugh bubble up in her throat. One of the other girls gives her an incredulous look, as though she can’t believe Alba is laughing after what has happened in the last ten minutes. She can’t believe it either, actually, but she is almost unable to stop herself, so instead she crams her fingers in her mouth and bites down until the pain flares and one of the guard’s is guiding her by the shoulder up onto a little ledge that goes around the perimeter of the room. This is where she and the other captives will stand on display, and for the first time she really stops and thinks about what is happening to her.

Alba’s mother couldn’t make the rent on time, not even with her helping out by working in the shops, and now she is being sold like livestock to pay the price. There is a very real and pressing possibility that when she does leave here, it will be to go to her death. That was a part of the stories, too. Many of the people who ended up here were destined for new lives of servitude, either in the home or the bedroom. She thought she was attractive enough that the latter was a distinct possibility, and she gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of any of these greasy, grimey men running their paws over her. Still, she’d rather that than the other alternatives. For years the police had suspected the New London Ripper of using the black market slave exchange to buy ‘practice’ victims. Every now and then a missing person would show up carved up like a Christmas ham, each one with more precision than the last. The victims were almost always poor and disadvantaged, exactly the type who usually ended up in the slave exchanges.

The men in suits are walking around the room now, eating and drinking and laughing with each other, as though they were at a cocktail party and not in the middle of a human trafficking nightmare. Alba makes it her personal goal to remain strong and stoic, even when hands are creeping up her thighs, pinching her nipples, cupping her arse or breasts, fingering her hair.

“Too skinny,” one man remarks, crushing her body against his. “I’d break her in half!” He and his mates laugh at this, but leave her in peace otherwise. She is subjected to other indignities, and though there are moments when the tears actually do spill over her cheeks, still she remains silent.

There is one man though who is not part of the larger group, and he is staring at her like he thinks he recognizes her. She knows that cannot be though, because she is certain she would remember having met so handsome a stranger. He is tall, perhaps even a bit gangly, but the pinstriped suit he is wearing fits him like a glove, and his dark brown eyes peer out seriously from behind a pair of tortoise shell glasses. His hair, like his eyes, is brown and stands up in every which direction, which she sees is a result of him pulling his fingers through it and making it stand up in every which direction. He is anxious about something, but he overall has the air of someone who is uncomfortable and out of place, and she can relate to that. 

“So why are you here?” he finally asks, stepping close enough to her that she can feel the edge of his suit jacket brush against the bare skin of her belly. His voice is soft, not at all like the brash man who’d felt the need to fondle her in front of all his mates before declaring her too skinny.

“I don’t know for certain, but if I were a betting girl I’d say my Mum was probably late paying the rent. Again,” she replies.

“Can you cook? Clean?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Can you do those things well, or are you the type who burns toast and might accidentally make chlorine gas while cleaning the bathroom?”

This time she does laugh. “Do I look like I grew up with a maid? I had to clean my own loo growing up, I know better than to mix bleach and ammonia. I might not have my A-levels mate, but I’m not stupid,” she says, only realizing how impertinent it sounds after the words have already left her lips. She waits for his reaction in trepidation, unconsciously biting her lower lip as she does. He seems to be watching her do this, and his own lips are slightly parted. Finally, he smiles back at her and she breathes an internal sigh of relief.

“Feisty, aren’t you?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at her. She swallows, but says nothing as he waves his arm and flags down one of the women with a tray of champagne, a redhead. He takes two flutes from her tray and whispers something in her ear.

“Very good, Mr. Smith,” the redhead says, bowing her head at him and heading to the other side of the room, where a cluster of the armed guards are standing.

With shock, Alba realizes that the man is handing her one of the champagne flutes, indicating she should drink with him. She does, and the champagne is sweet and bubbly. It hits her empty stomach hard though, and it makes her feel woozy-giddy. When she starts to sways, he reaches out and grabs her by the elbow to steady her.

“Now then dear, do you have a name?” he whispers, his breath warm on her ear.

“Alba,” she tells him, feeling her heart pounding against her chest like it’s a prisoner trying to break free.

“Alba,” he repeats after her, that amused gleam in his eye again. “So were you conceived in Scotland, born at the dawn, or did one of your parents just love flowers?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Mum loves flowers, but I don’t know where I was conceived. She hates haggis though, so it probably wasn’t Scotland. And I was born in the evening.”

“Alba born in the evening, conceived in a land unknown. Well Alba, I think a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. You’ll be coming home with me,” he says, tracing the curve of her lips with his fingers. 

She barely has a moment to react to this though, as two of the armed guards are pulling her arms behind her back and one of them is holding a bag to cover her face with. She would scream, but there’s the quick, sharp pain of a needle in the crook of her elbow and then there is only the darkness.


	2. Ground Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Smith lays out the ground rules of his 'arrangement' with Alba.

When Alba woke up, it was in a soft bed, propped up on puffy, plushy pillows. The sheets felt soft and smooth beneath her fingers, and she knew immediately that she couldn’t have been dreaming because she wasn’t at home (the linens on her own bed were nowhere near as posh). When she tried to open her eyes her eyelashes stuck together, as though she had been asleep for a long while. She reached up to rub the crusties from the corners of her eyes and blinked owlishly, taking in her surroundings.

The bed she was propped up in was obscenely large, a four-poster monstrosity in deep, rich wood, overflowing with an abundance of pillows. Next to the bed, a matching wooden night stand hosted a small hurricane lamp, currently the only source of light in the small room. Across from the bed was an armoire, and it was the only other piece of furniture in the room besides the bed and the night stand. The bed took up almost the entirety of the room, but in spite of this the space felt more cozy than it did cramped. She climbed carefully out of the bed, holding onto one of the posts as she did. Her legs felt watery when she put weight on them, but when she let go of the post she didn’t go plummeting to the floor, so she very carefully made her way around the corner to the little alcove of the room with the single window. When she stopped to lean against the wall, she noted with mild amusement that the tiny flowers in the pattern were little blue roses. When she reached the window, after what felt like an eternity, she pushed the curtains aside with her hand and looked out on her surroundings with great interest.

Wherever she was, it was high up. A vast and unfamiliar cityscape unfurled beneath her window, and towering skyscrapers reached toward a night sky that was purpley-black and dotted with dozens and dozens of bright white stars. She couldn’t help but inhale sharply, the sight was so startling and beautiful. After a while, she thought to leave the window to try the two doors on the opposite side of the room. One of the doors was locked, and only rattled in its frame when she pulled on the handle. The other door opened up into an ensuite with a mammoth and domineering claw-footed bath tub. Towels were folded on a rack above the toilet, a toothbrush and toothpaste were in a cup by the sink, and an abundance of toiletries were scattered across the counter. Weird. She picked up the bottles of cream and perfume, opened and sniffed some, set them back down. The last thing she remembered she had done before going into the show room had been to take a shower, but that felt like aeons ago. Her hair was matted against her skull, and she felt sweaty and sticky, the patina of long-sleep clinging to her body. Thinking she had nothing else to do, she decided to draw a hot bath.

She poured some essential oils from the counter into the bath water-sandalwood, vanilla, and jasmine, just a little bit of each. When the tub was full, she stepped carefully into the fragrant, steamy water and sank down slowly, letting the water come up to just below her chin. Eyes closed, she let the hot water work on loosening her stiff muscles. She tried not to think of her mother, or home, or what might have happened to her mother after she’d been taken. She assumed her sale on the slave exchange would settle her mother’s debts, but she had no way of knowing for sure. The water flowed across her face, covering her mouth and nose and ears as she sank deeper into the tub. For a moment, she imagined she was drowning. When she opened her eyes again, dark brown ones were hovering above, peering back at her through tortoise shell frames.

She gasped, almost aspirating a mouthful of water in her surprise. Sitting up quickly, she self-consciously brought her hands to cover her breasts and crossed her legs at the waist. Though he had obviously seen her naked before, she felt compelled to try and preserve the very last shred of her modesty. “Do you mind? I thought I was alone, you startled me,” she said breathlessly.

“Sorry, I just came to check on you. When you weren’t in the bed, I had to make sure you hadn’t tried to drown yourself in the bath tub.”

“No. I was thinking about it, though, honestly. I’ve heard stories about the kind of blokes that frequent the exchanges, what kinds of weird kinks and fetishes they have. What did you bring me here for?” she asked.

He brought his hand up to trace the shell of her ear with his fingers and she shivered a little, unsure if it was the chilly air or his touch doing it to her. She was appalled at the idea of being physically attracted to her captor, but none the less, there was something about him that was charming, compelling even. He was staring at her, and again she got the feeling that he was looking at her as if he knew her. But of course that was impossible, so she tried to shrug it off. He just had a very intense gaze, one that made her skin break into gooseflesh. She supposed if she had to have been bought by anyone, she was glad it had been this man, as opposed to one of the other dozens of skeezes that had manhandled her back at the exchange.

“When you are finished bathing and dressing, you can meet me in the library. We can discuss the ground rules there, but one of those rules is that I ask the questions. Let’s not forget which one is master and which one is slave,” he said lightly. He got up from where he was sitting crouched on the floor, and slipped out of the bathroom. She stared after him, his words echoing in her ears. 

When her skin started to wrinkle and the water started to grow cold, she pulled the rubber stop and watched the water and oil swirl away down the drain. Taking care not to slip on the slick porcelain surface, she patted herself dry and climbed out of the tub. She took her time combing her hair, gently squeezing the excess water into the basin of the sink. She slowly and carefully pulled the damp strands into a messy French braid, securing it with an elastic she’d found tucked inside one of the drawers. It was weird how he had exactly everything a woman would need to get ready. Either he was extremely diligent, very prissy, or a woman had been living there recently to have left those things behind. She had to believe there were no other women living here currently, though. It didn’t seem practical, bringing home a black market slave when you had a wife or girlfriend about. Unless you were a swinger, which she supposed was entirely possible. Once you accepted the existence of the slave exchanges, other proclivities seemed less extreme and much more plausible. Something told her though that this wasn’t the case.

She trimmed her nails, even put a quick coat of dark red varnish on them. She let her fingers sit in a basin full of ice cold water for a full five minutes to let the polish set, and decided maybe she’d put on some rogue and eyeliner, too. All these extra steps, all this effort to doll herself up wasn’t because she found him attractive, she told herself, but was an effort to buy herself more time before having to face him again. She was frightened, no sense in pretending otherwise. In the mirror, she applied mascara, and her eyes looked wide and doeish, even to herself. Almost as an after thought, she applied perfume to her wrists and elbows, and the hollow of her neck. She took one long, final look at herself in the mirror before shutting the light off and slipping out of the bathroom. The next time she looked in a mirror, it might well be at a completely different person. 

Opening the armoire, she was dismayed but not wholly surprised to find that everything in it was posh, expensive, and not in the least bit casual. She had grown up in a steady stream of second-hand jeans, hoodies and trainers, and the most casual things in the armoire were probably night gowns. Her fingers lingered over sumptuous silks, luxurious laces, and dresses that looked so intricate she figured you’d need a team of people to help you into them. It was all lost on her, and beginning to feel a bit desperate, she hastily chose a black lace chemise and threw it on over her head. This time when she tried the second door it was unlocked, and she padded quietly out into a dark hallway. He hadn’t told her where the library was, just that she should meet him there. She scanned both sides of the hallway and saw only darkness and closed doors, save for one half-open door at the end of the hall, from which the quiet tinkling sounds of classical piano were coming. An irregular flickering and dancing of shadows hinted that the room beyond was lit by firelight, so Alba crept carefully towards it and pushed the door open.

Directly ahead of her sat her captor, back turned to the door and seated at a baby grand piano that was slightly to the left of a large stone fireplace. The room, which had impossibly high vaulted ceilings, was lined entirely with library shelves crammed full of books, save for the West wall, which was all glass and gave yet another breathtaking view of the city below. He even had one of the old-fashioned library ladders on sliders rigged up, so you could reach the shelves closest to the ceiling. In spite of the high ceilings and large windows, the room still felt quite warm, although she supposed it could be her nerves making her palms sweat. He was playing Beethoven now, and his fingers were flying over the keys with the ardor of a man possessed. She could only watch him play, afraid to interrupt. 

When he finally finished the piece he sighed heavily, and turned to face the doorway. The sight of her leaning there seemed to catch him by surprise, and she heard his breath catch in his throat. The appraising look he was giving her now was more unnerving than the way he had looked at her when she’d been naked, and she got the distinct impression that he was undressing her with his eyes. The look passed though, and he got up from the piano to sit on the loveseat in front of the fire. He patted the space beside him, indicating she should join him there. Heart beating like a hammer in her chest, she crossed the room to take a seat next to him. He could’ve moved a bit to the right to give her more room, but as it was they were sitting thigh pressed against thigh and she didn’t see him making any motions to rectify that situation. He was wearing a different suit, blue with rust stripes. The jacket was thrown over the back of an over-stuffed armchair along with his tie, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He was holding a half-empty highball glass in his right hand, and his eyes had the glimmer of someone who’d been slowly seeping in it all day.

“Don’t suppose it’d be too cliche to tell you that you look ravishing in that,” he said, the ice clinking in his glass as he gestured at her for effect.

“I guess that depends on whether you were actually planning on ravishing me or not,” she said, bolder than she felt.

He cocked his eyebrows at her, and grinned in such a way that it made her guts turn cold. “I hadn’t decided yet, honestly,” he said, and she knew that he was not likely being facetious. “I guess that depends on how this conversation goes.”

She shivered again, involuntarily, though if he had noticed he said nothing. The hand not holding his drink was resting on the back of the loveseat, though it was inching closer to her bare shoulder. “You said you wanted to discuss the rules, so let’s discuss them. What am I here for, what do you expect of me?”

“Well you’re all business, aren’t you? What’s the rush? There’s all the time in the world for business, and even more time for pleasure,” he slurred, resting his hand on her shoulder. That time she did jerk away from him, and she thought she saw a flash of murderous reproach in his eyes.

“Sorry,” she stammered, trying to think of an excuse to keep from offending him. “Your hands are just so cold, maybe you should warm them over the fire.”

“I can think of other hot things I’d rather warm them over,” he replied, reaching for her.

“The rules?” she interjected, hoping to get him back on track. “The reason why I’m here?”

He sighed, drained the rest of his glass, and set it down on the floor next to him. “You are here because I’m finding myself in need of a wife.”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, thinking she must have heard him wrong.

“A wife. I need a wife, or I lose access to all my money. Or my family’s money, I suppose I should say. I have an inheritance, but the agreement is that I had to be married by my thirtieth birthday or I’d be cut out,” he said dryly, getting up to pour himself another drink. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah...sure,” she replied, knowing it was a bad idea. She needed to be in control of her faculties right now, but she was so nervous that if she didn’t do something to take the edge off she was going to rocket straight out of her seat and into outer space.

He must’ve seen the bewildered expression on her face as he handed her the drink. “What? You thought all the men at the exchange were a bunch of deranged fetishists who want to take body shots off your kidneys?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. If it had been an attempt to disarm her, it was kind of working. “Okay, yes, I did kind of think that. But honestly...if a wife is all you’re in a need of, why not obtain one...in the usual fashion? You’re a handsome man, you can’t tell me you don’t get attention from women.”

He frowned at her. “My career is my focus. Finding a wife requires courtship. Courtship requires time. There are other things I’d rather be doing, and I don’t need or want a wife to answer to.”

“So you couldn’t have put an ad in the paper or something, wanted: wife? I just...I guess I just don’t understand why you had to go to the slave exchange route.”

“Anything legal is traceable, Alba. That’s why. I’m nothing if not overly cautious. This way, everything is on my terms, and that’s how I like it. I’m a bit quirky, a bit fussy and a bit precise, if you hadn’t noticed. I like things how I like them, and I’d like you to play the part of my fake wife. To your incentive, if you successfully help me carry the scheme off, I’ll give you a percentage of the money and you’ll be free to go. In the mean time...you stay here and have contact with no one from your old life. I will make sure that your mother is taken care of it, and you’ll be free to do as you wish here in my home, so long as it doesn’t involve contact with the outside world. When the members of the trust show up to visit, you’ll act as my doting wife. Otherwise, you cook, you clean, and do… _other_ wifely things, whatever I decide they may be, and we’ll have no problems. You can go wherever you like up here, except the locked room at the top of the stairs. That’s my office, and I keep a lot of important and private files in there, so it’s strictly off limits. You’re not a prisoner though, not quite. Think of it as more of an...indentured servitude, or a temporary business arrangement.”

And there it was. ‘Other wifely things’. Alba had to figure it would’ve come into it at some point, the other reasons why he’d gone to the exchange instead of getting a Russian mail order bride like any other decent sociopathic freak. She couldn’t bring herself to ask what those things might be though, not quite yet.

“So how long do you think you’ll need me here?” she asked instead.

“As long as it takes to convince them that our love is genuine, and the only fertilizer our love garden needs is money,” he said, his tone indicating his growing impatience with her questions.

“Oh. Right,” she said lamely, taking a couple large sips of her drink. The alcohol burned its way down her throat, setting a warm fire in her belly. Maybe this was going to be okay. Maybe. And then it occurred to her… “I don’t even know your name.”

“Most people just call me the Doctor,” he replied, his breath warm and boozy in her ear.

“Doctor who? If you’re supposed to be my husband, I can’t just run around calling you ‘the Doctor’, now can I?” she laughed.

“No, I suppose not,” he said, pushing himself up from his partial slump and adjusting his glasses, which were slipping over the tip of his nose. “So call me John Smith then. Doctor John Smith.”

“John Smith. Really?” she asked, and now she was the one cocking her eyebrows at him.

“No, not really. But there’s absolutely no reason or need for you to know my real name, and that one will do as good as any. That’s the alias I used at the slave exchange, and that’s the name you’ll use to address me. Which brings me to my next point...your name isn’t Alba any more, at least not around other people. Just in case you end up on the missing person’s list, don’t want any red flags or anything.”

“No, we certainly wouldn’t want that,” she said, completely deadpan. ‘So what shall my new name be?”

He smiled at her again, a different kind of smile, one that was much more warm and genuine than the creepy and wolfish one he’d given her earlier. That was the sort of small that could thaw a heart of ice, she thought...but why was she even thinking that?

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, so how about Rose?”

“Rose,” she repeated. “Rose. Yeah, that’s nice. I could get used to being a Rose, I think.”

“Ah, except you are much more beautiful than a simple flower,” he said, lifting his hand to brush her fringe out of her eyes. He let his open palm linger on the side of her face perhaps a moment longer than necessary, and she felt her heart begin to pound again. 

_Please, not this, not now...I’m not ready...I can’t_ she thought feverishly as he tilted his head closer to her own. Before she could really react he was pressing his lips against her own, thrusting his tongue hungrily into her mouth, crushing her against him. Startled by the sudden intrusion, she reacted by biting his lower lip, hard. He pushed away from her, wiping his fingers across his lips and seeming surprised to see that they came away wet with blood. The look that he gave her then was completely unreadable, and she was suddenly terrified.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though he didn’t seem to hear her. He was staring at her, rubbing his thumb over the place where her teeth had broken his skin.

“You sure you aren’t part vampire bat? You’ve got quite a bite on you,” he said with a chuckle. Relief flooded her then, as she knew he wasn’t angry. 

“I’m sorry...I’m just, everything is very overwhelming right now. I wasn’t expecting all that,” she said, feeling the need to explain again.

He flapped his hand dismissively at her and gave her another one of those smiles that made her insides feel all squirmy. “But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.”


	3. Provocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba gets a firsthand taste of how wild and dark the Doctor's moods can swing.

“But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose,” she repeated after him. “That’s lovely. Did you think of that just now?”

He smiled at her again, more subdued, and hiccupped. He covered his mouth with his hand. “Excuse me. No, I can’t take credit for that. One of the Brontë sisters...Anne, I think. Don’t hold me to that though, I’m hopelessly drunk right now.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said, clearing her throat pointedly.

“Have another drink with me,” he said, his head tipping so far forward that she thought he might fall face first into her cleavage.

“Um, I think you’ve had enough...John. Besides, I’m not thirsty,” she said, trying to sound amiable.

“That wasn’t a goddamn question, woman. Get up, and fix us another round of drinks. And don’t skimp on the alcohol. I paid good money for that fine arse of yours, so tonight you get to be my drinking buddy. Now fucking do it,” he said, his voice gone dangerously soft. Jesus, but he didn’t just run hot and cold, he ran Saharan desert to Arctic tundra. She got up though and went for the bar, grateful for the opportunity to escape that piercing gaze for the moment.

Most of his alcohol was in crystal decanters, rather than labeled bottles. She could look at the color and give it a sniff though, enough to tell that he had gin, vodka, whiskey, rum, tequila, port, and some violently green liquid that smelled almost as foul as it looked. She pushed that bottle far to the side of the bar, looked at what she had available to mix and garnish with, and started to fix them each a whiskey collins.

“Hey, why don’t you have a little sour mix with your whiskey?” he critiqued from across the room, and his tone was so harsh and condescending, she had to quell the desire to throw the cocktail shaker at his bloody head. She picked up the decanter of whiskey and tipped it over the shaker, _1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10_. “There. An extra two and a half shots of whiskey, no skimping. Happy? Maybe you’re looking to put hair on your chest, but I like mine pale and smooth and the way it is, thank you.”

“I like your chest the way it is, too,” he said as she handed him the cocktail.

She just sighed. “Of course you do. You’re a man, and you’re drunk. Boobs are like A-list celebrities in your world.”

“Shut up. I’m not that simple minded, I just appreciate a well-crafted set of breasts when I see them, that’s all. Like you’ve never looked at a man’s bum before,” he said, snorting and rolling his eyes through another sip of his cocktail. “Oh wow. Damn, that is a bit strong. No matter though...s’what I asked for.”  
She took a sip of her own drink, and tried not to gag at how strong it was. She almost never drank hard alcohol like this, and she was already feeling slightly buzzed from that first drink. Internally, she cursed herself for accepting his offer the first time around; she had a feeling she would be paying for it later.

“So...Rose. Tell me about my future wife,” he said, sucking on an ice cube. She realized she was staring at him doing this, and she had to catch herself and stop before it became too obvious.

“Like what? S’not much to tell. Mum got pregnant with me at seventeen, my dad did a runner when he found out. I never knew him. We always grew up poor, but she would give up everything just to make sure I had a little bit extra. We both worked full-time, but it just wasn’t enough to keep up with the bills, and you know how corrupt the people running the council estates have become. We told them it would only be a few more days until pay day to make rent, but I guess they couldn’t wait.. We’ve always only ever had each other...now she’ll have no one,” Alba said, biting her lip. She was determined not to let him see her cry, but that was proving to be more and more difficult as the night wore on.

Her admission seemed to make him pensive. He sank back into one corner of the loveseat, and swirled the ice around in his glass again. The nervous habit of a habitual alcoholic, she decided. But was that a trace of guilt she saw on his face?

“Your mother will be taken care,” he repeated softly.

“Yeah? And what exactly does that mean, ‘taken care of’? How do I know you’re even telling the truth, and what’s in it for me to keep playing along with your little game?” she asked, knowing she was pushing the boundaries, but needing to call him on what she thought were obvious holes in his plan. “What’s to stop me from telling your trust fund flunkies exactly where you got me from?”

That grin again, like a cat toying with a mouse. “What’s in it for you to not tell them, besides the money I’ll give your mother? Well Alba, let me just put it to you like this: a dead woman can’t spend anyone’s money, mine or yours. Are you following me?” he asked, his smile growing wider.

She felt her guts turn to ice again. She _did_ follow him, to the T she was pretty sure. But the smile he had given her while he said it…

“So there it is then,” she said weakly. “The nub and thrust of it. If I comply, I’ll be rewarded. And if I don’t, you’ll kill my mother. Great. I’m glad we’re both on the same page with this now.”

“Who said anything about killing your mother? I’m just saying...so long as you do your part, I’ll make sure that no harm comes to your mother. You know how dangerous the council estates have become…” he said, unspoken threats implicit in his tone. “But if you don’t comply...well, there’s just no incentive for me to keep a watch out for Andrea, make sure she stays out of trouble. I am a businessman, after all, I have to protect my investment. In this case, that’s you. I’d like to think that the generous financial windfall I’ll be providing at the end of this will be incentive enough, but should it prove not to be I still have my own interests to look out for.”

Her heart sank. Not only was he some kind of sociopath, but he was apparently a genius one at that, using her mother against her. Brilliant emotional manipulation, top notch. She wondered how he had known her mother’s name, and how close the two of them were, but she supposed the slave exchange probably provided dossiers of some kind. Still, she knew then that she would have no choice but to do whatever he wanted, a prospect that was becoming increasingly more terrifying. If she had to lose her mother, by God at the very least she would try to protect her from the same monsters who had taken her from her home.

“Maybe we should have this ground rules talk tomorrow morning, when we’re both more lucid. If I’m drunk and you’re drunk, we’re hardly going to remember this conversation.”

“Well luckily for you, you’ve got all the fucking time in the world to have it over and over and over again with me, and if that’s what I want, then that is what you will fucking do,” he shouted at her. “Quit trying to goad me into doing what you want, woman, and finish your goddamn drink!”

Hurriedly, she gulped it down, feeling her body trying to reject the whiskey even as it passed her lips. She swallowed hard, and took a few deep breaths to keep herself from retching. She was feeling more than a little blurry around the edges now, and if he was about to pick a fight she was hardly going to be able to fend him off. Thing was, she didn’t really drink whiskey because it tended to make her belligerent, and her mouth was already getting her into trouble when she wasn’t trying to purposefully be a cheeky ass.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she said demurely, folding her hands in her lap.

“You’re goddamn right, you’re sorry. Remember-I ask the questions. I give the orders. I _own_ you, it is not the other way around. And be lucky, because most of the men who frequent places like the exchange do not have the generous and tender heart that I do. I paid almost half a million pounds for you up front, and I’m prepared to pay you more than that if you can get the job done right. So you just smile and bat your eyelashes, and you tell me all about your goddamn self. Your hopes and dreams, your favorite color, the first boy you kissed, what the fuck ever. But if I ask you questions, I expect answers, not more questions, not your unsolicited advice. Got it?”

“Got it,” she nodded in affirmation. He nodded too, and sank back against the loveseat. The fire had gone out of his eyes, and he just looked tired now. A dab of blood was dried at the corner of his mouth, and before she had even really thought about what she was doing, she licked her thumb and reached out to wipe it away. When she finished she went to pull her hand back from his face, but he caught her by the wrist and stared at her, his pupils so large that his eyes almost looked black. He planted a kiss against the inside of her wrist, and she felt her knees start to tremble. He worked his way up her arm, kissed her throat and collarbone, and oh my God, was she completely turned on right now?

“Now why are you going to go and start something you can’t finish?” she panted, desperate to put the brakes on.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he whispered against her throat, letting his fingers trail down her thigh.

She knew it was probably a bad idea even as she said it, but maybe a part of her were hoping it were true, to prolong the inevitable. Besides, for some reason the whiskey thought it seemed like a perfectly appropriate thing to say to the mercurial and seemingly dangerous man she was currently sharing “Well, it’s hardly like you’ll be capable of..performing this intoxicated. I had a boyfriend who had that problem. Said guys can’t get it up if they’re too drunk, he even called it ‘whiskey dick’...”

“Is that so?” the Doctor asked, that mad gleam returning to his eye.

“Ummm…” she stammered, realizing now in retrospect that what she had just said to him probably sounded an awful lot like a challenge or a come-on, especially in his intoxicated state.

“Well my dear, I’d be more than happy to prove the both of you wrong,” he growled low in his throat, pinning her against the side of the loveseat. The piece of furniture was hardly big enough to attempt much besides a grope and a snog, so she wasn’t really sure where he was going now with this, but the sensations weren’t altogether unpleasant so she let it ride. 

Now though he was nibbling on the tender spot just below her ear, and as she suspected, she was too intoxicated to levy much of a protest, though she wasn’t sure she would’ve even if she could have done. If anything, the uncoordinated flailing of her limbs might’ve been misinterpreted as her urging him on, because he only became more frantic and persistent in his efforts, and he was sucking and nipping at her throat and shoulders so hard now that she was sure it would leave bruises.

And then, any hope she had of fending him off was lost when he pulled the cups of her chemise down and started sucking on her nipples. She let out a moan, so soft and tiny she didn’t even know how he could’ve heard it over the sound of the crackling fire and their own drunken, labored breathing, but obviously he had heard it because he took it as an unspoken invitation. He pulled her with him off the loveseat and onto the rug in front of the fireplace, where he began tugging the chemise off her body. The thin lace material got caught and bunched up around her waist, and when he couldn’t get the material to slide past her hips he just ripped the fabric in half with a frustrated grunt. Having freed her of the only garment she was wearing, he turned to his own clothing and began fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt. She watched him from her spot on the floor, wondering if she should try to help him undress, wondering whether doing one over the other might incur his sudden and seemingly spontaneous wrath. Now she was glad she had plied herself with liquor, to dull her nerves just the slightest against whatever might come next, however pleasant or unpleasant whatever that was might prove to be. 

And then she made it worse for herself yet again, by gasping when he finished taking his pants off. She wasn’t so drunk that she didn’t catch the pleased little look on his face when he caught her reaction to his raging erection. Whiskey dick? Apparently it wasn’t even in his vocabulary, because he was beyond pissed drunk right now and still looked like he could split wood with the tool he was wielding. In the absence of any lumber, she realized he might have to settle for splitting her in half instead, and she was genuinely afraid again. He had a good couple of inches on even the biggest of the guys she had ever slept with, and she remembered how sore _that_ particular encounter had left her.

He was teasing her now, rubbing the head of his cock against her entrance. “You’re already wet, you dirty little slut. You like playing hard to get, don’t you? Or maybe you just want it as bad as I do, hmm?”

Her cheeks burned with shame, but she said nothing. What could she even begin to say? He had her by the balls, figuratively speaking. She was wet, her nipples were hard, her breathing was rapid and shallow...her body was acting a traitor, responding to him even when she was willing it not to, and it certainly wasn’t responding like that of someone who was either unwilling or uninterested.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll skip on the foreplay just this once. But it doesn’t seem like you mind that much at all…” he said, using the smaller of his heads to tease her again. Finally, he lowered himself down over her and she could feel him reaching between their legs and then in one smooth motion he was thrusting up inside of her, battering against her cervix like he was taking revenge on it. “How do you like my whiskey dick now, whore?”

She supposed she had provoked him, after all. That was something was she was going to have to learn to be more careful about.


	4. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Alba wakes up the bruises and bite marks speak for themselves, and a confrontation with the Doctor leaves her feeling an eerie clarity regarding her situation.

When Alba woke up that morning, it felt like someone had wrung her body out like a wet washcloth and left her out to dry somewhere hot and unpleasant. Her head was pounding, her mouth was like a desert, and tasted funny yet again. She made a mental note to do everything in her power to stop from waking up in such a fashion, as it seemed she had been doing that a lot lately. Finally willing her eyes open, she could tell that it was still very early morning, as the sliver of sky she could see through the window from this vantage point on the bed was still more inky than pink with the coming dawn. Slowly, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, gasping when she caught sight of the angry bruises decorating her thighs and arms. She was totally starkers, and the events of the evening previous came rushing back to her about the same time the whiskey made a rush to exit her body. 

She stumbled inelegantly to the ensuite, shoved the door open and crashed to her knees in front of the toilet just in time. She hadn’t eaten anything that she could recall in the past however many hours, all she’d had was the alcohol, and she felt like it was tearing her insides up now. The whiskey burned twice as bad coming back up as it had going down, and she had to choke back a miserable little sob. When she was rather certain that she had entirely emptied the contents of her stomach, she sank down and let her forehead come to rest on the cool tile of the wall. Sitting there, her mind started doing the messy job of assembling the puzzle pieces of last night’s happenings. She was remembering enough though that it had her stomach tied up in knots.

Starting with, _“How do you like my whiskey dick now, whore?”_

That much she remembered pretty clearly. The rest of it though was still a bit hazy. Shakily, she got to her feet and stood up in front of the bathroom mirror to examine the best piece of evidence she had: her body. The bruises and bite marks were like a map that told her what route last night had taken. Twin bite marks ringed each of her areolae, and a collection of similar marks peppered her throat and shoulders. Her hips, thighs, and arms bore bruises that looked mostly finger shaped, although there was one mark on her inner thigh that looked suspiciously like a hickey. She blushed, thinking of how it had gotten there.

As it had turned out...she had liked his whiskey dick just fine, much to her own chagrin. When initially he had laid her down in front of the fire, she had figured it would be over fairly quickly. Alcohol wasn’’t exactly known to be a performance enhancing substance when it came to sex,, but she also hadn’t known many men capable of getting a rager like that after consuming nearly an entire handle of whiskey on their own. Actually, she hadn’t known _any_ man capable of drinking like that and still getting it up afterwards. He was some kind of beast.

When he’d made the remark about skipping out on the foreplay, she’d initially been relieved. The sooner it was over, the better, and she was uncomfortable with the idea of him lingering over any specific part of her body for too long. She had known there would be no point in struggling against him-as thin as he was, he was all solid, sinewy muscle underneath and he had a vise-like grip. Rather than fight against him, she’d clenched her muscles tightly around him, rocked her hips against his own, and dug her fingernails into the scant meat of his shoulders. She’d scratched the skin there, lightly at first, later raking her nails across it hard enough to draw blood. And again, it seemed to only encourage him. He’d pounded into her with short, swift strokes and an expert angle that had left her gasping and clutching at him. He’d had that self-satisfied smirk on his face, of course, but once he’d caught on that she wasn’t entirely hating the experience, he’d stopped, withdrawn, and kneeled above her.

“What the hell?” she’d blurted, to which he had only laughed at her.

“Payback. For playing hard to get,” he said, stroking his fingers lightly across her inner thighs, which had felt like torture in her hyperaroused state. That was where most of the bites had come from-he’d licked, sucked and bitten all over her body then, everywhere except the one place she was dying to be touched. He did exactly the thing she hadn’t wanted him to, which was to kiss his way across her body, taking his time as though he were memorizing every plane, every hollow. He’d kissed her inner thigh, dangerously close to the palce where she actually wanted him, his breath warm and tantalizing on her bare skin. When she had groaned, he’d only kept his attention focused there, biting and sucking, maddeningly close and yet not close enough. She’d been on the verge of begging, but she was damned if she would give him the satisfaction. He’d then gone on to spend what felt like forever blowing his warm booze breath on her clit, a feeling that had been both delicious and insanity-inducing.

“Oh, you are _soooo_ bad at this,” he’d smirked, moving to straddle her hips. The tip of his cock had just barely brushed against her, his fingers had traced circles around her nipples until they were diamond hard, and she’d known right then that he was, in fact, deliberately torturing her, probably still for the ‘whiskey dick’ comment more than anything else. She couldn’t help but feel like even intoxicated, he was trying to show off for her maybe just a bit.

“B...bad at what?” she’d managed to stammer.

He had placed his palms down on either side of her and dropped slowly down over her so that their faces were less than an inch apart. “Bad at pretending like you aren’t enjoying this and you want it to be over. You’ve already shown me your thorns Rose, now I think it’s time you let me have the flower as well,” he’d practically growled at her as he’d thrusted inside.

A dozen sarcastic responses had leapt into her mind, but she’d bit them back, knowing that at that stage of the game those sorts of comments could very well be fatal. The man was unbalanced when he wasn’t engaged in coitus, she couldn’t imagine how he’d react to an ego blow while engaged in the act. It wasn’t a theory she was particularly interested in exploring either, so she just kept her mouth shut, squeezed tight around him, rocked her hips, and sighed and moaned appropriately. She’d told herself it was for his benefit, but she hadn’t actually been acting too hard. Still, when her orgasm came it came as a surprise-nearing his own finish, he had picked up his pace, and whether it was the increased friction, the angle, or what, she had gone tumbling over the edge after him, biting her tongue in ecstasy and shame. He had collapsed against her chest, breathing in harsh, shallow gasps. She’d hoped he’d been so caught up in his own climax that he hadn’t noticed hers, but no such luck. When he had lifted his head off her chest to look at her, he’d had the Cheshire cat grin on again.

He hadn’t lingered, instead had pulled out of and off of her. He’d walked, actually more like _sauntered_ , over to the doorway and had turned back to look at her. His glasses were askew, and he had used just a finger to straighten them before giving her another one of those smiles that were less creepy and more inviting.

“I have work at seven in the morning. I’ll take a full English at six tomorrow, make enough for two if you’d like. _Bonsoir, mon petit rosé_.”

It had taken what seemed like monumental effort to peel herself up off the floor, but she had, and she had somehow also put out the fire, deposited his clothes in the laundry room (which she’d discovered was off of the humungous kitchen), and then collapsed back into her own bed, with no regard whatsoever for the time. It was some miracle of God that had roused her now-the antique alarm clock on the table, if it was accurate, said it was still thirty til six in the morning. She shuffled out of the ensuite, threw on another night gown, and make her way to the kitchen.

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when she opened his fridge and found it almost completely empty, save for what looked like dozens of jars of condiments of questionable edibility and a couple Tupperware containers that had graduated to science experiment status. The thought of a full English breakfast had sent her stomach turning, and it looked like she was saved from it after all, at least for that day. She supposed he couldn’t hold the empty fridge against her, but she was still mildly nervous all the same. She did find butter and a loaf of bread on the counter, and one sad little lemon in the fridge, next to a jar of orange marmalade that didn’t expire until the following year.

“Right. Toast and tea it is,” she mumbled blearily to herself, opening his pantry to look for the tea. He had to at least have tea, right? She fished around, pulled out bags of rice and cans of beans, and finally found a few tins of Earl Grey stashed behind the sugar and flour. She just hoped to Christ the man had a sodding kettle in his giant, restaurant kitchen.

She was relieved to find that he indeed had several kettles, including a fancy electric one that plugged in, and had a temperature gauge for all the different types of tea. She eyed the thing suspiciously before pushing it to the back of the cabinet and grabbing the kettle that looked most like the one her mum used at home.

When he finally stumbled into the kitchen, she was sitting at the table, staring down at the city as her tea grew cold. “Turns out you had nothing in, so no full English. Sorry. There’s tea, and toast though, if you’d like.”

He grunted something unintelligible in response to her, and she just sighed, taking a sip of her tea. He joined her at the table a few minutes later with a steaming mug, but no toast. She had nothing to say to him, wouldn’t know where to even begin, so she just stared into her tea instead until she felt her skin crawling. When she looked up he was staring at her, aghast.

“Did I do…?” he asked, reaching out to touch her bruised shoulders. She jerked back before he even had a chance, wincing in anticipation. “Oh. I guess that’s my answer then…”

She stared back at him for a moment, but finally spoke softly. “You’ve had your breakfast, Doctor. If you don’t mind...I’d like to be excused to take a bath. Please.”

He took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes, and held his head in his hands. “What exactly happened last night? I remember having a drink with you in the library, and talking, but other than that…”

“Seriously? You don’t remember at all?” she asked, incredulous.

“No. No I don’t. I was drunk,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her as though she were the one who had done something wrong.

“Oh, well that’s just brilliant. You sure were lucid enough when you were raping me last night!” she cried hoarsely, the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally pricking hotly at the corners of her eyes.

His mouth, which was already a bit thin to begin with, pressed itself into a razorline. He got up, set his mug in the sink, and walked to the door. On his way out, he muttered something at her that might have been an apology, but might have been wishful thinking on her part. 

As she watched him go, she poured herself a fresh mug of tea. When she heard what she assumed was the front door slam shut, she allowed herself to completely lose it and break down. 

_A sex fiend would’ve been easier. At least that would’ve been straightforward…_ , she thought to herself. She couldn’t even begin to wrap her mind around the Doctor, whether or not he wanted to fuck her, fight her, save her, kill her or wed her. She didn’t know that she even believed half the things he’d told her, about taking care of her mother and letter her go free with payment. She had been raised being told that if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

With a calming resolve, she realized that she didn’t intend to find out. She took the sharpest kitchen knife she could find from the block, and took it with her back to the bedroom.

She had a bath to take.


	5. The Language of Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Determined to find out more about where she is being held captive, Alba returns to the library, where she finds a very interesting book and a new friend named Jack.

Alba paced the same spot in her bedroom for so long, clutching the kitchen knife, she was surprised that she didn’t wear herself straight through to the next floor. On some level she recognized that she wasn’t behaving rationally, but there seemed to be little she could do about it. When her brain tried the messy business of processing everything that had happened to her it just made her head spin. Half of what was so distressing to her was that she had no concept of time or its passage, aside from waking up here for the first time, and then again this morning. She didn’t know long she’d been out between the slave exchange and here, and she had no idea how far from home she was. Looking down on the city she had been clearly able to see that it wasn’t New London, but having never left the city of her birth before now she had no idea where else she could possibly be. 

And then there was the Doctor, and that was perhaps the biggest problem of all. Not like she should have been shocked that a man who bought and traded in human slaves was reluctant to tell her his real name, but it was obvious to her that he was someone of wealth and probably stature or importance. Which of course again lead her to wondering why a good looking man who came from money hadn’t been able to acquire a wife under his own steam? It just didn’t make sense, not unless there was something seriously wrong with him. Which she wagered there had to be, if last night’s Jekyll and Hyde routine and his seeming amnesia concerning it this morning was any indicator. Maybe the bit about needing a wife had been a lie too, although to what end she couldn’t possibly imagine.

Or maybe he really was just so socially inept and awkward that it actually was easier for him to buy a mate illegally than try to find one the normal way? The man obviously wasn’t a virgin, that much was obvious to her after last night. At some point in his life, he had dated or at least had some kind of physical relationship with a woman. At least she had to believe that. She didn’t think even a genius was capable of learning to do some of those things just from a book without having had any real world practice. 

It was a shame the...encounter, as she was coming to think of it, had occurred under the circumstances that it had. Any other time and place, the Doctor could have been a brilliant hook up, maybe more if he weren’t so bipolar or whatever it was that made him manic and cheerful one moment and dark and brooding the next. It was obvious he was capable of being a skilled and generous lover, if he wanted to be, but she thought he could probably also strangle someone while humming a jaunty little tune. Maybe he was just like that when he was drinking. She could hope that, anyway, though experience had taught her that alcohol often served as a lense of truth, showing a real snapshot of a person without their inhibitions, and the snapshot she had seen of the Doctor last night had been mildly terrifying, to say the least.

So he was probably just mad. Well, more like definitely and less like probably. He was mad. That wasn’t up on debate. Just how mad exactly though, she wasn’t yet sure. She was still trying to cope with the attraction she felt to him, when he should be all accounts be repellant for her. Her mum had always said she had rubbish taste in men, but none of them had been bonafide nutters or sociopaths, either. Come to think of it, none of them had really been men,, more like boys than anything. The Doctor was older-she assumed twenty-nine, based on last night’s conversation, though she supposed he could be younger. Either way...he was just different, although that probably could qualify as understatement of the century.

The thing that was really nagging at her though was her mother-at this point, she could care less about herself. She just wondered if her mum was okay, and if the Doctor actually intended to make good on his promise to make sure she was looked after, or if those had just been empty words to grease the wheels of acquiescence on her part. I he were being honest though, they were talking about the kind of money that could get herself and her mum out of the council estate and potentially keep them living comfortably without the need to work for quite a while.

She stopped pacing, and slid the knife under her mattress. If she decided she needed it later, it would be there, whether for him...or herself, if God forbid it came to that. For now though, she decided she needed to gather more intelligence, so she went to explore the house, in search of anything at all that might give her a clue to where and when she was. Last night she had been too wrought and incoherent to do much more besides stumble-shuffle her way to the laundry, and then to her room. It had been dark, and she hadn’t really taken the time then in her drunken fog to observe her surroundings. Now, daylight was breaking and the place would be better lit. Based on how high up they were and how posh the accommodations had been, she already figured they must be in some sort of penthouse suite. Where in the hell the penthouse was located happened to be the more pressing question. She went to the library, knowing the one whole wall was made entirely of glass and would probably afford the best view.

Looking down on the city in daylight, it was a bit less remarkable than it had seemed in the night. More curiously, she didn’t recognize any of the local landmarks. Wherever he’d taken her, it was surprisingly generic looking, at least from her vantage point. It was too high up to read the tiny signs on the buildings and billboards below to look for any identifying names or other clues . Whatever answers she was looking for, she decided she wasn’t likely to find them staring out the window. She turned around to regard the entirety of his library, and realized with a sinking feeling that it was almost too big. Still, she decided to browse his books, thinking it might give her a hint as to his profession, or perhaps what sort of person he really was.

The books were of little help. He had volumes on such a wide variety of subjects, it wasn’t clear to her that he preferred one over any other. She found a lot of medical textbooks and references-Gray’s Anatomy, the ICD, and curiously enough, a copy of the DSM-IV, which was old, out of date and American, to boot. She thought he might be a medical doctor, but then he also had several different versions of the Bible, copies of the Qu’ran in English and what she assumed was Arabic, and dozens of books on the different Eastern philosophies and religions of old Earth. All these were sandwiched in between books on every topic, from astronomy to zoology. So he was really, really well-read, or he at least liked to give people that impression. She gathered though that he was the private type, so likely this library was only for his benefit. Still, she hadn’t yet climbed up on the old rolling ladder and looked at the top shelves. She would assume the books he used the least would be up there, but maybe she would find something of interest.

The most interesting thing she found was a large and intricate spider’s web, the occupant of which was disturbingly absent, or at least out of sight. Nervously, she continued poking around, mindful of any creepy crawlies that might be hiding out. Most of the books on the top shelves seemed to be old, outdated encyclopedias, or educational volumes with such exciting titles as _A History of Danish Cheesemaking_ and _Notes on the Domestication of Exotic Birds_.

Right. So that was a strike out. She was about to start climbing her way carefully back down the ladder when a book with a bright red spine caught her eye. It was a couple rows away, at the very end of the topmost shelf closest to the window. She carefully scooted the ladder close enough that she could reach out to grab the book. Her fingers brushed the spine, the ladder tipped dangerously, and she snatched the book and leaned back, regaining her balance with a whooshing sigh of relief. She briefly examined the book, noticing with amusement the title: _Sextrology: Seeing Stars in the Bedroom_. The author was apparently a woman named Melody Pond, who had big hair and an even bigger grin in the photograph of her on the back jacket of the book. Alba flipped back to the front, looking for the contents. The book fell open on its own to a page that had evidently been read many times.

Well, and that was almost too strange a coincidence. The legend at the top of the page read “The Taurus Woman”, and Alba’s birthday was the first of May. She read on to see what cosmic wisdoms Melody Pond had in store for her.

_It should come as no surprise that Taurus, ruled by Venus, would exhibit many of the qualities ascribed to the Goddess of Love herself. The Taurus woman is vibrant, passionate, fecund, and fiercely loyal, provided you know how to stroke her ego and other integral parts of her anatomy (ahem!). She is a tactile creature who delights in indulging all of her senses, both in her everyday life and in the bedroom. Silky sheets, rose petals, soft music, and a good-smelling lover all pave the road to a successful sexual encounter. Those lucky enough to bed a Taurean woman will find her an adaptable and generous partner, just as open to tender lovemaking as frantic fucking._

“Hello?” an unfamiliar male voice called out. Alba shut the book guiltily and jammed it back onto the shelf in front of her, hurriedly scrambling back down the ladder. Her feet hit the floor at the same time the owner of the mysterious voice entered the room, carrying an elaborate floral arrangement. Andrea Prentice had loved flowers, and Alba couldn’t help but notice that this wasn’t just any floral arrangement, but a rather strategically arranged one, featuring pale pinky-lavender raspberry blossoms, deep pink dog roses, and a gorgeous mix of tight-budded Amnesia roses and a more open variety known as the Ocean Song rose, both in different, subtle shades of purple. A couple large stargazer lilies were peppered throughout the arrangement, so deep a shade of pink they almost looked red. Her mind was turning over, trying to remember everything her mother had taught her about the language of flowers.

“Hi,” she finally managed to croak. The man set the giant bouquet down on top of the piano, and she finally got a good look at him. He was handsome, with dark brown hair, blue eyes and a strong jaw. It was only when he cleared his throat pointedly that she realized she’d been staring at him, though he hadn’t exactly taken his eyes off of ear either, not since putting the bouquet down.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. The Doctor sent me, to give these to you, and to drop off some groceries. I already loaded up what I had in the kitchen, I was just looking for you,” he said, flashing her a wide, toothy grin.

“Right,” she replied, as if all this made perfect sense. If the Doctor had sent this man over here unattended, she had to believe he had some knowledge of the complexities of their arrangement. Or did the Doctor really expect her not to say anything to him? Maybe he did. She realized she was afraid, thinking back to the quiet menace in his voice when he implied that she should do what he wanted if she wanted her mother kept safe.

“I’m Jack, Jack Harkness, but forsaking formality I really prefer just to be called Jack. The Doctor sent me to you, in case you need anything. Here,” he said, rummaging around in the pockets of his coat, which was so long it was sweeping the carpet. He pulled out an old mobile phone, and handed it to her. “It’ll only dial one number, and that’s me, but if you need anything at all I’m around.”

“What if I need a friend? And a lobotomy?” she asked in a fit of honesty.

He just laughed, and shook his head. “The former I can handle. The latter...you’re on your own kiddo, unless the Doc has _Lobotomies for Dummies_ on one of these shelves.”

“Oh, I think I did see it actually, right next to _At-Home Foreskin Removal and You_ ,” she said with a completely straight face.

“Seriously?” he asked her.

“Yeah...sure,” she said, unable to further suppress her giggles. For whatever reason, she found herself immediately liking Jack. Something about him set her at ease.

“Yeah, okay. Quit pullin’ my leg,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Would you rather I pull on something else instead?” she asked, all innocence.

“You know...I’m just going to refrain from answering that one. This whole living thing has been working out alright for me, I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Hmm. You wouldn’t possibly be inferring that the Doctor might be a bit of an overly possessive and jealous psychopath, would you?” she asked, tilting one of the roses towards her nose so she could sniff it.

“No, no I definitely wouldn’t be inferring that. At all,” Jack said, scratching the back of his neck. “Where would you even get an idea like that?”

She just stared at him. “Either you’re blind or polite, but I’m sure you’ve seen the bruises. Connect the dots, Mr. Harkness. Or, I’m sorry...Jack.”

Jack was nonplussed. “The Doctor has his proclivities. I always fatasiz...er, I always _assumed_ that he might be into BDSM or something. He just seemed like the type.”

Realization dawned on her. “You fancy him, don’t you? But I guess he probably doesn’t know it.”

Jack’s only confirmation was the furious blush creeping into his cheeks.

“He’s mad,” she stated.

“Yes, and a bit magnificent, too. You just gotta get to know him. The Doc...he’s had a rough go of it. But I’ll let him tell you about all that in his own time. If you don’t need help with anything at the moment, I actually did have something I needed to get back to.”

“I suppose not,” she said, and he tipped a salute at her before turning back to the door.

“Have a good one, in that case. And if you need me, just press one and send. Or shoot me a text message. Whichever you like, Rose,” he said.

She caught the use of her new alias. “Did the Doc..did John tell you where he and I met?” she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity to see what the other man’s reaction would be.

“Yes” he replied, but said nothing else. When she didn’t respond, he just shrugged, gave her another smile, and kept on walking. She stared after him, not quite sure what to make of Jack Harkness or the vague answer he’d just given her. 

Turning back to the floral arrangement, she gave one of the Ocean Song roses a deep sniff. It really was a gorgeous arrangement, but it only left her feeling more conflicted. In the language of flowers, roses symbolized beauty, but purple roses specifically were a symbol of enchantment. Lilies were also a symbol of beauty, and these stargazer lilies were flawless, some of the most gorgeous she’d ever seen. The raspberry blossoms were a sign of remorse, of course. All of those things together sort of made sense, she supposed. He was telling her that he thought she was beautiful and enchanting, and that he was sorry for what had happened. But then there were the dog roses, symbolizing both pleasure and pain. All the different types of roses had to be intentional-he could have used other blooms to express the same sentiment, but obviously had chosen not to. She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it, especially the dog roses.

For Alba, the mystery of the Doctor was only deepening.


	6. A Family Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba is put to the test when the Doctor's brother Harry and his sister-in-law Rani drop by unannounced for dinner.

After Jack left, Alba shimmied back up the ladder to retrieve the book from the place she had hastily jammed it. She climbed back down the ladder and debated lounging on the loveseat with it, but thought better and took it back to her room. She shoved it underneath the mattress, next to the kitchen knife. She took the knife out, wrapped it up in a spare pillowcase she found at the bottom of the armoire, and wedged it in between the mattress and the headboard. She was getting quite the collection going, but she wasn’t quite done yet. She walked back out into the hall and walked the opposite direction of the library, to the other end of the hallway where she hadn’t yet explored. 

The door there at the end of the hall had a stained glass window with no particular design, just different panes in varying shades of blue and green. She turned the knob, and was almost surprised when it yielded to her. The door swung open, and she stepped into an indoor greenhouse that looked to be about as big in size as the library. In raised beds by the windows, fragrant kitchen herbs dotted a dozen different clay pots. In addition to the herbal makings of an old Simon and Garfunkel song, she spotted savory, marjoram, basil, lavender, chervil, and something that might have been lemon balm or lemon basil.. She moved around the room, noting with amusement that in one corner he was definitely growing something that looked suspiciously like marijuana. The closer she got to it, the more surprised she was that she hadn’t smelled it right when she walked in. Perhaps the greenhouse were actually a bit bigger than the library. 

_Seriously green house…_ , she thought to herself, guiltily plucking one of the larger buds off the plant. If anything, it might help quell the ever-present feeling of nausea she’d developed since finding herself naked in the slave exchange. She had no pockets, so she just held the fuzzy little bud clutched in her fist as she continued to walk around. His greenhouse seemed to be as confused as he was-next to completely innocuous and garden variety flowers and plants, he was also growing belladonna, poppies, and digitalis. She made a second pass-by the marijuana and grabbed a few more buds, sticking them to the one already clutched in her damp palm. 

She deposited all but one of her littles buddies into a tiny Tupperware from the kitchen, and hid it inside the toilet tank of her bathroom before heading back to the kitchen. There, she was relieved to find that Jack had completely stocked out both the fridge and pantry, and stomach grumbling, she started to use a vegetable peeler to poke a hole into the side of an apple. Using her fingers, she crumbled the weed into her makeshift pipe before she realized that she didn’t have a lighter. A frustrated search through the junk drawer yielded several books of matches, but no lighter. Determined, she plowed on.

Puffing on her apple pipe, she stared into the fridge, formulating culinary ideas. Her mother had been pretty awful at cooking, though Andrea would always insist otherwise. Alba had taken up doing most of the cooking, and had even become pretty good at it. Focusing on a new recipe, or creating one from scratch, she was happy to be in the kitchen puttering away. Cooking was a grounding activity for her, and she found a certain kind of peace and clarity in the methodical, repetitious work of chopping vegetables, peeling garlic and the like. Reaching into the fridge, she pulled out a small, whole chicken and a bag of fresh lemons. Stroking her chin, she decided she needed to make a second visit to the greenhouse, for some of the less illicit herbs he had growing there.

He wanted her to cook? Fine. She would get stoned off his stash and create something so delicious, it’d knock his goddamn socks off and start a culinary revolution. Well, she would just settle for something that tasted good at this point, honestly.. She could only hope that the way to a madman’s heart was, like any other man, also through his stomach. And once she had crept into his heart, maybe she would have a shot at picking his brain.

She hit the power button to a tiny CD player/radio that was hanging underneath one of the cabinets, and laughed when the familiar melody of “Scarborough Fair” came pouring out at her. After retrieving the necessary herbs from the greenhouse, she dove immediately into cooking. Between the clatter of pots and pans and the music, she didn’t hear the shrill ring of the mobile phone Jack had left for her.

Oblivious, she sang along with the words, feeling an absurd sense of giddy purpose, “...parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme!”

* * * * *

When the Doctor came home, he was less than ecstatic to find the kitchen sink littered with used matches, the counter littered with dirty dishes, and a half-naked Alba singing into the spoon she was using to stir her risotto with. Earlier in the cooking process she had managed to douse herself with water from the sink, and she had just removed the night gown she’d been wearing, leaving it draped over the back of a chair. She’d meant to go get another one, honestly, but then the timer started going off, she’d misplaced her apple, and one thing had led to another.

“Are you stoned?” he asked her with disbelief.

“No! Well, maybe. Probably, definitely, yes,” she said, pressing her hand to her mouth and giggling. The Doctor was staring at her now, which might have been just as much about the nudity as her bizarre behavior. It was hard telling, and the look he was giving her was undecipherable. The pot had instilled a sense of bravado in her that had not been there previously.

“So I guess you found the greenhouse then.”

“Yes, I guess you could say I found the ‘greenhouse’, alright,” she said, making air quotes around the word ‘greenhouse’. She was only slightly miffed that he didn’t seem happier to see her naked and cooking in the kitchen. He was probably mad about his stash.

“Okay. This is bad,” he said, pulling his fingers through his hair. “At the moment I don’t know how bad, but we’re certainly three buses, a long walk, eight quid and a taxi from good.”

“If it’s any consolation, I am sorry. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. I’ve been so nauseous, and I knew I had to eat. I didn’t know though that you apparently took botany lessons from Tommy Chong...I haven’t been this high since...well, ever, actually,’ she said, bursting into a fresh peal of laughter. The Doctor took her firmly by the arms, avoiding the places where she was bitten and bruised.

“Alba..Rose. Get it together. I know this is short notice, and believe me..you have no idea how unhappy I am about it. But two of the board members who sit on my trust committee are dropping by tonight for dinner, and I need you to be at least semi-coherent. They’ll be here in less an hour.”

“Less than an hour? Fuck dude, I hope you have stock in Febreeze…” she said, her sentence trailing off into titters. She broke free of his gasp, and opened the oven to check on the chicken. “Well, perfect timing on one point. The Simon and Garfunkel chicken will be done in about an hour, and maybe it’s delicious aroma will cover up the fact that my good friend MJ was here to visit. I think I can pull it together long enough to play the role of doting wife, at least for an evening.”

“Wait...what? Simon and Garfunkel chicken?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah, you know. I stuffed the bird with some lemon wedges, and then I seasoned it with salt and pepper, and parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,” she said, sing-songing the last bit. “Oh, and butter. And white wine. And I made four cheese risotto. So at least dinner is taken care of. Oh! And I made cake. Chocolate cake with raspberry buttercream.”

“Right. Right...that’s good,” he said, pulling at his face in obvious frustration. “Well, go take a bath or something. And for Christ’s sake, there’s Visine floating around your room somewhere, find it and drop your eyes, please. I’ve brought you a new dress, something with long sleeves. I’ll leave it for you to change into when you get finished bathing.”

“Kay,” she agreed. She turned to leave the kitchen, but before she did she pressed herself into his arms and wrapped her own arms around his neck. The gesture seemed to take him by surprise, and he went stiff before he finally allowed himself to relax a little and let his hands come to rest on her waist. She hugged him, and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. She felt him twitch through his trousers against her naked belly, and she smiled a little to herself.

If this was a cat and mouse game, then two could definitely play it.

“By the way...thanks for the lovely flowers,” she said nonchalantly, skipping out of the kitchen, but not before she caught the look on his face. He was looking at her like she was a unicorn. He was impressed, but trying not to let on.

Alba tittered behind her hand all the way to her ensuite.

* * * * *

By the time she had emerged from her room, freshly bathed, dressed in a long-sleeved black dress, and significantly subdued, the Doctor had cleaned up most of the mess in the kitchen, lit a couple of scented candles, and was setting the table.

“I would’ve cleaned up,” she told him, and he almost dropped the wine glass he’d been setting down.

“You scared me, I didn’t hear you creep up there,” he said.

“Hmm. I’m like a cat. Or a ninja. Maybe a ninja cat?” she posited.

“Alba…” he warned.

“Relax. Most of the...side effects have worn off now. Which is a shame. I forgot how horny smoking makes me,” she said, and that time he did drop the wine glass he was holding, right as the doorbell rang. He shot her a look of consternation, and made to leave the kitchen.

“Think you can sweep that up?” he called to her over his shoulder.

“Of course, Sweetie!” she practically gushed back at him. She was prepared to lay it on thick, alright. Her’s may have been an absurd brand of revenge, but seeing her get to him like this was much more rewarding than other methods.

Pain and pleasure, after all.

She picked up the broom, swept up the shards of the broken wine glass, and deposited the whole mess into the trash. She was standing on her tippy-toes, reaching into the cabinet to grab another wine glass, when the Doctor returned to the kitchen with two people, a young man with short blond hair who looked vaguely familiar for some reason, and an ambiguously older brunette woman, who was eying Alba contemptuously.

“Rose, my dear, this is my brother Harry and his lovely wife, Veranika,” he said, his tone indicating that he thought otherwise of the older woman.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Veranika replied, making no efforts to hide her disdain. “You can call me Rani, if you like. I never felt like much of a Veranika myself.”

“Pleased to meet you, Veranika,” Alba replied, taking an immediate dislike to the other woman. She didn’t know why, but something about her made Alba feel nervous and on edge, and she wasn’t a big fan of the wolfish look the brother was giving her, either. She got the distinct impression that the two of them would eat her alive, if given the opportunity. She shuddered. Who’d have thought the Doctor would ever be the least creepy person in a room?

“We brought wine,” Harry said, handing the bottle to his brother. The kitchen timer went off, and Alba took the oven mitts and retrieved the chicken. The skin looked perfectly browned, and she sighed with relief.

“Hmm. Looks delicious, dear,” the Doctor said, coming up behind her. He planted a kiss in the crook of her neck, and she shivered as his lips brushed against her ear to whisper, “Just follow my lead and let me do the talking.”

He pulled back and gave her a meaningful look, and she nodded her understanding at him. He squeezed her hand one, briefly, and then let it go so he could look for the corkscrew.

“So the kitchen, eh? What, didn’t feel like getting the fine china out for us, brother?” Harry teased.

“Well, it’s not as though you exactly gave me any notice. You announced it to me as we were leaving work that you two would be coming over to dinner tonight,” the Doctor replied, not bothering to mask his irritation with his sibling.

“Well of course. You can’t keep the lovely Rose all locked up and to yourself. You returned from New London a week ago and no one has laid eyes on her, besides Harkness, and he hardly counts,” Harry snorted.

“Oh, don’t be mad at John. That was all me. I was tired, from all the traveling and running around. I asked for just a few days to recuperate before we entertained any guests. You’ll have to forgive me,” she said with a smile, trying to figure out why the other man seemed so familiar to her. She just couldn’t place him…

“John?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. He turned to look at his brother and smirked. “Is that what you’ve been calling yourself these days, you scamp?”

“Get bent, Harry,” the Doctor replied mildly. “Wine?”

“Why the hell do you think we brought it with us?” Rani asked taking the bottle from his hands and topping off her glass. ‘We needed something to make an evening with you bearable.”

Ouch. It was obvious there was no love lost between this bunch, which just made the whole impromptu dinner engagement seem all the more inexplicable. Alba felt a strange protectiveness though for the Doctor, and she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her, and she was rewarded with one of those smiles that made her believe for just a moment that he was telling her the truth.

“I don’t like them,” she whispered in his ear, waiting until Harry had gone to fiddle with the music and Rani had excused herself to the loo.

“The feeling is entirely mutual, believe me. But you’re doing fine, so just keep it up,” he encouraged, letting his hand rest on the small of her back as he pulled her chair out for her. 

He waited until Harry and Rani joined them at the table, and then began to carve the chicken. Alba admittedly tuned out a little, ignoring the quibbling that passed between the other three. She was still looking at Harry, wondering where she knew him from. It was one of those things where she was sure she’d feel stupid, once the answer became apparent, but it wasn’t as though she could exactly ask him what he did for a living. Dinner finished without too much fanfare, cake and coffee was served, and then they retreated to the library for drinks. Alba sat next to her pretend husband-to-be on the loveseat and looked down at the floor, trying not to dwell on the act that had taken place there less than twenty-four hours previously. She had noticed at dinner that he’d only had one glass of wine, and there was barely an inch of scotch in the glass he was holding now. She realized she was relieved by this.

“Lovely arrangement there. But remorse? What could you have done that you needed to apologize for already? Rani asked the Doctor, a smirk on her face.

He started to answer, but Alba interjected sweetly. “Ah, but did you see the dog roses in there, too? Not just remorse, but pleasure and pain. He sent me flowers to apologize for causing me to lose out on sleep last night,” she said, winking at him as she did. 

Alba wished she could’ve captured the look on Rani’s face when she said this. When Harry started guffawing and clapping his hand against his knee, the arrogant brunette swatted at him angrily and got up, muttering something about the lateness of the hour.

“I’ll see you out,” the Doctor said, leaping to his feet and walking with his brother and sister-in-law to the doorway of the library. Alba stayed behind, sipping her lemon water. The three of them formed a cluster out in the hallway, and though she could hear what sounded like angry whispering, the words were indistinct under the noise of the crackling fire. Finally, the trio moved out of the hallway, and a few short moments later she heard a door slam. She realized she still wasn’t even sure where the front door of this place was-she had gotten distracted the last time she’d tried to explore. She also had almost no idea what they had all been talking about for the last few hours, seeing as she had been in her head for most of it. She heard the Doctor’s returning footfalls, and she set her empty glass down on the table in anticipation.

“Alba, you were just brilliant!” he exclaimed giddily, grabbing her hands and pulling her up from the loveseat.

“Oh, it was nothing. Besides, we were united in our cause to piss off Rani, I think,” she said with a smile.

He pulled her into his arms, lifted her and spun her around. She couldn’t help but laugh, his enthusiasm was infectious. When he set her down on the floor, he brushed her hair away from her face and hesitated there.

“May I kiss you?” he asked, uncertainly.

Alba was taken by surprise. For all his talk about remembering who was master and who was slave, she was rather surprised that he was asking permission for something as simple as a kiss.

“You may,” she told him, closing her eyes and leaning in, heart pounding. His lips pressed against her own were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the hungry, lusty man who’d assaulted her mouth last night.

“Can we start over again? A re-do, if you will. I behaved a proper arse the other night...” he breathed into her mouth.

“You did,” she agreed, pulling back to look at him. “But I suppose we can let bygones be bygones. I will humbly suggest that you are worlds more pleasant when you aren’t sloshed, though. Forgive me for smoking your weed and almost ruining surprise dinner with your brother and banshee-in-law?”

“Forgiven,” he said, tilting her head back up and claiming her lips with his own once more.


	7. Retrograde Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For every step forward they take, it seems they take another leap back.

When he wasn’t drunk and angry and out of control, he was an absolutely brilliant kisser. Alba found herself clutching tightly to the lapels of his suit, weak in the knees and needing something to hold onto. His arms encircled her, pulling her tighter against him, and he let his hands rest so they were cupping her bum. He gave her a light squeeze through the thin material of the dress, and she pressed herself tighter against him in response, feeling his growing arousal between them.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful and enchanting she asked?” as his head dipped to kiss her throat.

“Of course I do,” he whispered against the still-bruised skin there, and she bit her lip. It hurt, but it was a delicious sort of pain, and he was being so incredibly gentle. He scratched lightly at her stomach through the dress, and kissed her again on the lips. “And I’d quite like to do more than just kiss you right now,” he said, his tone changing to one laced with desire.

She wanted him to do quite a bit more than kiss her as well, but her body protested the thought. As irresistible as his kisses were, she still ached like she’d been in the ring with a championship fighter.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she said into his mouth, gently pulling back and forcing him to release her lower lip, which he’d been nibbling on. “I don’t think I’ve quite recovered from our last...encounter,” she said finally, and did she hear the regret in her own voice there?

“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” he said thickly, bending his head down and doing that nervous thing where he pulled at his hair again. She reached out to stop him with is hands, forcing him to look up at her. The puppy dog look on his face was so sad that she almost reconsidered, but then she thought better of it. Whatever this was between them, it was strange, and fragile ,and new. She didn’t think it would be good to rush it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to ever...I just don’t think I can right now,” she replied softly. “Another time.”

“Right, yes of course, another time. Rani was right, it is getting awfully late, and I have a work meeting early tomorrow. Breakfast with me at five?” he asked hopefully.

“Can I go back to sleep after?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Sure, I don’t care,” he said, melting her insides again with his smile. And then, more subdued, he pressed another soft kiss to her lips. “Goodnight, Rose.”

He made to pull back, but she grabbed him and held him there, deepening their kiss. She smiled in satisfaction at the low, rumbling moan that issued itself from the back of his throat, and then she pulled back.

“Goodnight, John,” she said over her shoulder, leaving him standing in front of the fireplace with a dazed look on his face. She walked down the hall to her room, shut the door behind her, and set the alarm on the antique clock for 4:30 in the morning, which seemed such a short amount of time from now, but she wasn’t really thinking about the time. She was thinking of the way his lips had felt and tasted against her own, how rock-hard he’d felt pressed against her belly, even through their clothing. She felt a rush of heat just thinking about.

Sleep would be hard coming tonight. She tugged the dress over her head, unclasped her bra, and let the garments come to fall on the floor. She went to get another night gown from the armoire, but that was the point at which she was interrupted by the knock on her door. Knowing it wouldn’t be any one other than him, she answered it as she was.

“Yes?” she barely had a chance to ask before he was pushing into the door and shoving her down onto the bed, although he did so with a great amount of care.

“I can be gentle,” he said into her mouth. The sensation of being pinned underneath him wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though parts of her bruised body were humming in angry protest. She found at the moment, the resulting headrush she got when he placed his lips against her nipple and sucked made it easier to forget the parts of herself that were still aching and sore. She arched her back, thrusting her chest up at him. He was moving down her body now, his mouth and fingers stopping to pay reverence to every inch of her exposed skin. She thought to herself how this experience so far was proving to be a polar opposite of the other evening. When he reached the damp thatch of curls between her thighs, he parted her legs gently and kneeled there between them. He lightly stroked the skin of her thighs, softly massaging the spots where he had left bruises before. His lips brushed against her skin, and she shivered in anticipation of what was about to come.

He started out tentatively at first, but then became more bold when she began to hum her appreciation low in her throat, licking, kissing and sucking her pearl more aggressively. Even as he did this though, his hands were resting on her hips, tracing lazy circles there with his fingers. She tangled her fingers in his hair, and mimicked the gesture of him pulling his own fingers through it. This time when she came, she tugged on his hair and she didn’t bite back her cries of ecstasy. He emerged from between her legs, a wet grin on his face. He sat up on his knees and began to take his own clothing off, methodical but quick. He laid his clothes over the footboard and moved to stretch out beside her on the bed.

Without speaking, she rolled toward him and took his hardened length in her hand, giving it a few experimental pumps. She was rewarded with a hiss and intake of breath from him for her efforts and she smiled, sitting up and moving so that she was now the one kneeling between his legs. She kissed him once on the top of his head, and then rolled her tongue down the length of him, swirling her tongue around his testicles and pausing to take the left one of them into her mouth. She rolled her tongue around it, enjoying the sounds he was making as she did. Not wanting the other to feel neglected, she did the same to the right one before licking back up his shaft again and then taking him into her mouth. He gasped, and twitched his hips, thrusting himself deeper, tickling the back of her throat. She continued licking and sucking, working her way up and down his cock with an ease of practice that brought him shuddering to climax in a few short moments. He let his hand drop on the pillow behind his head, and when he did the kitchen knife wrapped up in her night gown went tumbling out from behind the headboard and onto the floor with a loud metallic clang. She looked up from between his legs, just in time to see the flash of betrayal in his eyes.

“What the hell is this?” he asked softly, bending over to retrieve the knife. There was a hint of that terrifying hardness in his voice again, and she felt her stomach clench in fear.

“It’s a knife,” she said, her mouth going dry. No sense in trying to lie about the obvious.

“I can see that,” he said coldly, running his finger along the edge of the blade. “But why do you have it?”

Alba could only stammer, searching for the answer that wouldn’t ruin everything, but by the anger flashing in his eyes, she could already tell that it was too late.

“Nevermind, I think I get the picture,” he said gruffly, getting off the bed and gathering up his clothes. He bundled the knife together with his suit, shot a dark look over his shoulder at her, and shut the door behind him. She heard the lock click into place from the other side, and she felt the tears of frustration working their way to spill over her cheeks.

“Doctor, it’s not like that!” she called after the sound of his retreating footsteps. “The knife was supposed to be for me…”

If he heard her, he didn’t give any indication. She heard footsteps going up a flight of stairs, and then heard a door slam. She rolled over and clutched at her pillow miserably, cursing herself for moving the knife out from under the mattress in the first place. Her thinking had been that it would be easier to get to in the event she had needed it, for self-defense or other darker purposes, but it had only backfired on her. She didn’t even have the mobile phone Jack had left her, was locked alone in a room with nothing but herself and her thoughts. 

That night, she cried herself to sleep.

* * * * *

She wasn’t exactly sure of how much time passed-she slept a lot, in the absence of much else to do. She estimated it had been about three days she had been locked in so far. When she woke up from being asleep, she would find trays of food and drink placed out for her, but she never saw him, never heard him. She didn’t know how she could be so lonely for a man whom she barely knew and whose treatment of her bordered on abusive at best, but none the less, she found herself wishing she could see him and that grin that made her melt.

Instead, she thought of her mother and home, and cried an awful lot. It was around the middle of what she estimated was the fourth day when she remembered the pot she’d stashed in the toilet, and the book hidden under the mattress. She retrieved the Tupperware from the toilet tank, grateful she had thought to put a book of matches and a piece of aluminum foil in with it. She shut and locked the door to the ensuite, and sat down on the floor, using the flat surface of the book to construct and load her makeshift pipe with. She tried not to think of the Alzheimer’s she was giving herself as she inhaled the fragrant smoke, but once again it didn’t take long until she was pleasantly fuzzy around the edges and only feeling the dullest traces of pain from her mostly healed bites and bruises. She flipped the book back open to the section on Taurus women, and continued reading. With interest, she noticed that someone had placed an asterisk next to the compatibility description for a Taurus woman and a Scorpio man.

_Being opposite signs of the zodiac, the connection between a Taurus woman and a Scorpio man can be nothing short of intense. Both are enormously passionate signs, both with larger than life cravings to satisfy. While Taurus craves material things, Scorpio craves power, and together the two of them can rule the world or bring it to its knees, each striking the balance for the other. So long as Taurus will allow Scorpio to take the reins most of the time, this can be a match that will burn hot and bright and forever._

_Both Taurus and Scorpio hold a stable relationship in high-esteem, but it takes effort to get to that place. While Taurus is unflinchingly honest and craves the same honesty in return, it is in Scorpio’s nature to play his cards close to the vest, preferring to retain a certain level of mystery to his person. For a Scorpio, a steady relationship provides a reassurance to them that they have a deep connection with someone else, and they will often be incredibly possessive and territorial when it comes to their partner. If Taurus can show Scorpio that she only has eyes for him, it can go a long way toward securing the future of the relationship._

_While Taurus is ruled by Venus, Scorpio is ruled by Mars and Pluto, a combination that makes for an intense coupling due to the balance of masculine and feminine energies. Scorpio will tend to overtake Taurus in many aspects, but Taurus might find herself willing to acquiesce if he plays his cards right. While Taurus is about devotion to a partner, Scorpio’s raw, smouldering sexuality is often enough to stoke the flames for both partners, and he will delight in pleasing Taurus and reveling in her devotions._

_But Taurus should beware of Scorpio’s stinger, and woe to the lover that crosses him! Due to both signs propensity for jealousy, lover’s spats are a likely occurrence if eyes should wander. On the same token, nothing is sexier to Taurus than when Scorpio stakes a claim and expresses his jealousy-for Taurus, this is merely a sign of approval!_

_Communication is key for this pairing, as Taurus is very much an open book, while Scorpio is more the inscrutable, brooding type, and both are prone to stubbornness. Taurus will usually win arguments, but Scorpio will often chose to achieve their ends through more devious means, using emotional manipulation and sex as a tool to get what they desire. So long as they can learn to open their minds and trust each other, this can be one of the strongest, most intense, and rewarding bonds for a Taurus woman._

Alba took another hit on the tinnie and mulled Melody Pond’s words over. She flipped back to the contents again, noticing a scrawling on the opposite page that she had missed the first time around: “Property of Romana Dvoratrelundar”. 

_Talk about a mouthful of a name!”_ she thought to herself. She didn’t have time to wonder who Romana might even be though, because at that moment a knock came not on the bedroom door, but on the door of the ensuite.

“Rose? It’s Jack. Are you alright in there?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine...just got caught up in my thoughts,” she called to him, lifting the toilet tank to stash her tinnie and the rest of the bud. She replaced the lid as carefully and quietly as she could, quickly dropped her eyes with some Visine ,and sprayed the can of air freshener that was sitting underneath the bathroom sink.

Great. Now it just smelled like she was smoking weed AND taking an Alpine stroll. Hearing Jack shuffling impatiently on the other side of the door, she realized she couldn’t hold him off any longer. She whipped open the door, almost sending him tumbling into the room, as he’d been leaning against the frame.

“Sorry,” she said, slipping past him and shutting the door behind her. He was regarding her with an amused look.

“Were you…?” he mimed smoking a spliff.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t have any rolling papers, so I used a bit of foil instead.”

“That shit will give you Alzheimer’s,” he replied, taking a seat next to her on the bed.

“Great. At least then, I won’t be able to remember how much I hate my life,” she said dismally.

“Well, all that aside, I’m not here without purpose. The Doctor asked me to pick you up and bring you to the seamstress.”

“For…?” she asked, waving her hand to indicate that he should elaborate further.

“For your wedding gown fitting, dear. You’re getting married in less than a month.”


	8. All the World's A Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack reveals to Alba a dark secret from the Doctor's past, in the hopes that it will help her gain some insight into his character.

“...my wedding dress fitting? So...we’re actually getting married? Like, legally?” Alba asked, her mouth going dry.

Jack just chuckled. “Um, well yeah. It kind of has to be legally binding for the Doctor to retain control of the bus...his finances.”

“So wait...how is that going to work? If he doesn’t want anyone to know my real name, how are we going to have a proper wedding?”

“A man that wealthy has connections. He had established an identity for you here, has papers in your new name. That’s how. So it will be legally binding, but only in a sense. Rose Tyler will be married. Alba Prentice...no one knows what that is here,” Jack said, offering her a smile.

“You keep saying ‘here’. Where exactly are we, Jack?” she asked, crossing her arms and sticking her lip out at him like a defiant child.

“Nowhere important.”  
.   
“Jack...I’ve been in a room for...I don’t even know how long. It feels like an eternity, but it might be no time at all. I can’t tell. I just...I keep wishing I would see him, or he would at least say something to me, but there’s been nothing. I just...I’m starting to feel desperate, Jack,” she admitted, wringing her hands. “I honestly think I’d rather die though, than marry him right now. If I have to play a charade fine, but I won’t do it with a man who hates me.”

 

“He doesn’t hate you, Rose, I promise you that. And the reason you haven’t seen him is because he had urgent business to attend to back in New London. I’ve been the one bringing you food, and the reason you haven’t seen me is because you’ve been dead asleep every time I’ve come in. And the only reason I kept the door locked, before you ask, is because I was afraid you might hurt yourself otherwise if I didn’t. There was enough in your room that you could’ve used I suppose, if you’d really wanted to. But I didn’t need you getting out and into the nightshade, the knives, or the booze.”

“Who’s Romana Dvor...dvrora...trelundar?” she asked, filing away the information he was giving her, but trying to contain any reaction or emotion she might be feeling about. She herself wasn’t even sure what she felt, especially not in the wake of the news that she was about to be going to her wedding dress fitting. This was a thing she had always imagined she would do with her mother, not with a slick but charming man in another city, far from home. And especially not in a forced marriage arrangement, either, false names or otherwise.

Jack’s demeanor immediately changed. He became guarded, unsure. “Where did you see or hear that name?”

“I saw it in a book,” she replied, not bothering to elaborate further. She expected him to press her for more information, and was surprised when he sighed, and seemed to sag a little internally.

“I suppose you’re bound to find out soon enough, but I swear...if he asks you who told you or where you found out, you better not mention my name or I swear, it’ll be the last bit of information you ever get out of me. Got it?” Jack asked, his voice the hardest and coldest she’d ever heard it since first meeting him. “You _do not_ tell him that you know these things. He’s insanely private, and if he knows you know and that I told you...livid doesn’t cover it. And I know you’ve seen him drunk and angry, no repeat performances needed. So I’m going to tell you a few things, because I want you to understand the Doctor, and I don’t want you to hate him, although you probably still will and I completely understand why. So listen carefully, because I’ll only tell you once, and I’ll deny it to my grave that I ever said anything at all. Are we sympatico, Rose?”

“Yeah,” she asked, feeling a slight thrill of anticipation. Whatever Jack was about to tell her must be major, if all the fanfare and death glares were involved. She was rapt, hanging on his every word.

“Romana was the Doctor’s wife,” Jack began, and held his hand up to silence her when she gasped and started to ask him questions. “They were very young when they got married, only sixteen. They were seventeen when they had their daughter, and nineteen when Romana and the baby were killed in an accident. I can’t tell you exactly what he used to do, but the Doctor was in a dangerous and sensitive line of work, and the accidnet that killed his wife and daughter was a hit gone wrong that was intended for him.”

Alba’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh my God! That’s horrible!” she gasped, suddenly feeling sorry for the man. She couldn't imagine anything more heartbreaking.

“That first night you were here? The night of the incident-” Jack began.

“The night he assaulted me, Jack” Alba interjected, narrowing her eyes at him. “Let’s be honest about what happened. He was drunk, and overpowered me. Whether I had wanted it to happen or not it would have, so I just took the more passive route rather than struggle, because I didn’t want to prolong the experience. And since we're being honest, I’ll tell you this, too-I came, and I’ve hated myself for that a little bit since then.”

“Rose, I know, and I’m sorry. I am _definitely not_ making excuses or condoning what he did to you. I hate that your very first impression of him was that, because he’s so much more than a monster, Rose...he’s a very damaged man, and the love of a good woman would probably do him some good. I don’t expect you to love him...but maybe just understand the nature of the beast. Because you asked me a question, and because I don’t want you to feel desperate and completely left out in the dark. Because I like you, and I see something good in you, and I think maybe you could be good for the Doctor if you could find it in you to open your heart to him, just a tiny bit,” Jack said, stopping to take a breath. He seemed to be hesitating, on the verge of saying something else, agonizing over it, even. “That first night you were here was the ten year anniversary of his wife and daughter’s death.”

Alba sucked in a breath of air. It was still awful, but at least it made a little bit of sense. She was torn, between wanting to hate him and feeling a deep sense of sorrow and pity for the man, who had obviously never quite gotten over the awful thing that had happened to his young family. The ten year anniversary of it had likely ripped his wounds fresh open, and he’d probably been craving human contact without the desire to explain why to her. Still, she wasn’t about to give it away that she _might_ be on the verge of possibly forgiving him something that was way past the village of Minor Transgression and well into the territory of Unforgivably Repugnant. Still, she couldn’t forget the way it made her feel when he smiled at her...and well, the orgasms hadn’t really been terrible, either. That was what made it even more awful was that there seemed to be some bizarre sort of chemistry between herself and the Doctor that she couldn’t even begin to cope with or understand.

“Plenty of people deal with tough shit without growing up to be rapists or psychopaths,” she insisted weakly. Jack gave her a look that told her he could tell that her resolve was wearing.

“Listen, the Doctor will be back later tonight, and you’ve got your fitting shortly. It’ll be good for you to get out. Maybe when he gets back, you two can talk,” Jack said, taking something from his coat pocket. Given his previous protests that he wouldn’t lay a finger on her or risk the Doctor’s wrath, Alba was quite surprised to see a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, a red silk blindfold, and a pair of noise cancelling headphones.

“Jack…?” she asked looking at him, not sure what to make of the sight in front of her.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically, cuffing her hands at her waist. They were tight around her wrists, tight enough that she couldn’t slip through them, but not so tight that they cut off her circulation. The chain on the cuffs was short, and didn’t allow much room for maneuvering, but Jack still used a carabiner, the type that you have to screw open and shut, to secure the cuffs to a belt he pulled around her waist, seemingly from nowhere. “You’re not supposed to see or hear where we’re going.”

She grew a bit panicky at the thought of losing two of her senses, plus her freedom of movement. She strained against the cuffs. “No, please! Not the darkness…” she moaned.

“It’s just until we get into the car, and for when we get out of it. For the ride, we can talk. It’s going to take us a little bit to get to the seamstress-she doesn’t live here, lives in a small town about an hour away. It’ll be okay, I promise,” he soothed, placing the headphones over her ears before she had a chance to protest. She could feel him guiding her out of the room, down the hall, and around what felt like a labyrinth. At one point, she felt the telltale sinking sensation that indicated they were in a lift, and then shortly there after Jack was helping her into the hover car and she could feel them lifting up and pulling away. After they’d been flying for a few minutes, Jack reached over and plucked the headphones from her ears. In the background, she could hear the soft, muffled sound of air moving over the outside shield of the car, and old big band music turned down so low that the words were indistinguishable over the brassy sounds of the instruments and the soft rush of the wind outside.

They sat in almost silence for what could’ve been forever; she had a hard time telling. Alba found that she actually didn’t have a whole lot to say, but had plenty to mull over, and so she remained silent. To his credit, Jack seemed to sense her need to process and absorb what he’d told her, and he didn’t make attempts at light flirtation or banter with her. Eventually, hesitantly, he draped his arm over her shoulder, but it was in a friendly, brotherly sort of way. She leaned against him, grateful for the quiet companionship at the moment. She didn’t realize she’d nodded off until Jack was shaking her awake and telling her they were there, and apologizing for having to put the headphones on her again. She allowed him to help her out of the car and lead her to wherever their destination was. It didn’t take too long to get there, and once they were inside he removed them from her head and unlocked and removed the fuzzy cuffs. He began to chatter with a woman in a language that she didn’t recognize.

“Jessuro’s going to undress you now, completely, and fit your garments from scratch. Don’t be alarmed, she’s very gentle and knows exactly what she’s doing,” Jack cautioned her, not wanting her to be taken completely by surprise.

“If you say so,” Alba said, although she wasn’t feeling especially reassured. Still, so far Jack had been the closest thing to a person she could trust recently, and she wanted to believe he was telling her the truth. She felt dry, smooth hands begin to slip her simple garments off her body, and then felt those same hands wind a tape measure around each thigh, her waist, her hips, her bust. The woman muttered to herself most of the time, although Alba still was unable to understand her. The hands and the muttering voice disappeared for a few moments and when they returned they were urging her to step into what felt like a pair of silk knickers and suspenders She felt the unmistakable constriction of a bodice being pulled, laced, and tightened around her upper torso, and then slightly relaxed and adjusted on her frame. 

After a few more minutes of disappearing, and some more seemingly animated chatter with Jack, the seamstress returned and tapped the backs of Alba’s calves, indicating she should step into the pair of shoes the woman was guiding her feet into. They felt tall, but chunkier than the heels she normally wore on a night out clubbing with her mates. Once she had gotten a steady footing, the seamstress guided her to step carefully forward. She felt a garment being pulled up and around her, and even buttoned into it, it still felt a bit loose.

“Wow...Rose. I wish you could see yourself right now, you look amazing,” Jack said, and the awe in his voice was sincere. “It almost fits you perfectly, just needs to be taken in a little bit. Hold tight.”

“Can I see?” she asked hopefully.

“Not this time, doll,” Jack said regretfully. “But you’ll get to see the finished product once it’s ready, and that’ll be even better.”

Alba had her doubts about this, but sensed that there was no arguing to be done over this one. She let the seamstress pinch, pull, and poke the fabric around her into submission before pinning it. Jessuro took a few more final measurements before helping Alba back out of the dress and complicated under garments. Her and Jack exchanged some more conversation in the strange, unrecognizable language, and then the seamstress helped her back into her nightgown. Jack was right behind her with the fuzzy cuffs and headphones. 

Back in the car and snuggled against Jack’s side, she silently mulled over everything that had happened that day, and what she would possibly say to the Doctor when she saw him that wouldn’t give away her new knowledge of his past. It was going to be hard not to give away that she knew something, and would probably require a little acting, fibbing and finesse on her part.

 _All the world’s a stage…_ was the last thought that popped into her head before she drifted back off to sleep.


	9. Old Memories of Pleasure, Ancient Histories of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Rose have an illuminating conversation when he returns from New London.
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from the incredible Maya Angelou poem "Touched by an Angel", the same poem quoted in the chapter. To paraphrase the Doctor, Miss Angelou is more eloquent than I could ever hope to be, so I borrowed her words rather than make you suffer through my own attempts at poetry. ;-)

Back at the penthouse, Alba was relieved to have the cuffs, blindfold and headphones all removed together. Jack’s expression was still overly apologetic as he sat down on the bed beside her.

“So now what?” she asked.

“Now? You’re free to do what you want. The Doctor will be back from New London in about five or six hours. I’ll hang out here in the library though, so I’ll be around if you need me,” he said.

“Well...maybe we could all have dinner together. When he gets back. I could cook for all of us,” Alba suggested, thinking of ways she could potentially keep Jack around for longer, as a buffer. She was nervous the Doctor would know right away something was up if it was just the two of them.

He smiled again, apologetically. “Sorry kiddo, but I’m afraid I’ve already got late dinner arrangements with my boyfriend Alonso when he gets out of work. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Really. I’ve already suggested to the Doc that he ought to lay off the sauce if he didn’t want to alienate you completely. Maybe have some wine with dinner, just keep him away from the hard stuff and you should be fine. Besides, you’re a charming and vivacious young girl, I’m sure you can think of other ways to entertain each other that don’t involve tequila and regret.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she replied, trying to return his smile with a tentative one of her own.

“When it comes to stuff like this, I usually am,” he told her with a wink.

“Oh? And what sort of ‘stuff’ would this be?” she asked him, raising her eyebrows.

“The Doctor. I’ve known him a long time, I kind of get how he ticks. Also, matchmaking and seduction, other things that I’m usually really great with,” he said lightly.

“You forgot to mention modesty. Also something you’re really great at,” she said, rolling her eyes at him good naturedly.

“I just thought that one went without saying,” he said, blowing a kiss at her over his shoulder as he bowed out the door.

Alone in the privacy of the Bedroom Formerly Known As Prison (as she was thinking of it in her head; when she got hysterical, those were the sorts of stupid things that popped into her mind), she had a moment to reflect on how skeeved out she was to have gone to a wedding dress fitting without having bathed. The patina of grime on her may have been mostly invisible, but it felt several layers thick, and she was quite literally itching to scrub it off her body. She didn’t have anything sufficiently scrubby in the bathroom, so she ransacked the kitchen to make her own. He had a lot of fancy accoutrements and high end products; almost nothing in the cabinets was store brand, or any brand she recognized at all, honestly. It occurred to her then that she might possibly be in another country, not just another city.

She gathered her ingredients, and studied the labels on each carefully for any clue as to where they might have been purchased. Something that might help to identify where she was, but it seemed most of the ingredients were imports: muscovado sugar from the coast of the Republic of Africa, blood orange olive oil and kaffir limes from Constantinople 3, and vanilla bean paste from Mexico. Which was curious. It was just from Mexico. Not New New Mexico, or the Benevolent Commune of Former South America...just Mexico. As in Earth Mexico, the one that had existed on the planet that her home planet had been designed to mimic, at least in some ways. She opened the jar though, and the paste smelled fresh and not millions of years stale and expired, so she figured it probably was some kind of printing error. The labels were surprisingly nondescript otherwise. No dice on that front.

Pressing down, she rolled the lime vigorously under her palm to release the juices and oils in it. She had heard about kaffir limes and their fragrant leaves, but had never actually used them before due to the fact that they were significantly more expensive than whatever sad pedestrian limes they had sold at the Tesco Express in between the shop and her flat back home in New London. The juice and flesh were too bitter for culinary preparations, but supposedly excellent for cosmetics. She sliced the lime and squeezed it over a scoop of sugar, splashed it with the blood orange olive oil, threw a small spoonful of the vanilla bean paste on top, and mixed it all together with her hands as she walked back to her room. It kind of smelled like dessert, and her stomach rumbled. She actually felt a bit hungry, which was a refreshing change from the nausea and stomach knots she had been having since the slave exchange.. 

She wiped the sugary scrub off on the tops of her thighs, but her fingers were still oily and she had to use a towel as a grip to turn on the faucet. Standing in the tub, she scrubbed herself down until the sugar mixture had all been used up, and then she used the plastic container she’d mixed it in to splash herself with clean water from the faucet. Once she was sure both dirt and sugar had dissolved down the drain, she put the stop in and sat back to soak as the water level rose, thinking about the strangeness of that particular day, and knowing that the strangest days yet were probably still to come for her. She continued her bathing routine on autopilot, thinking about what Jack had said earlier about the Doctor’s wife. She wondered what line of work he could have been in at nineteen that was so dangerous that someone had taken a hit out on him, and how could it have ended up killing his wife and daughter instead of him? She was morbidly curious, but of course she couldn’t exactly ask him out right about it and Jack had told her all he was comfortable divulging, she was pretty sure.

 _Curiouser and curiouser…_ she thought to herself, and then next of the Doctor’s Cheshire cat grin by association. She realized part of what distressed her so much about him was that she felt drawn to him and really wanted to like him, but she also felt that internal sense of revulsion that most people would feel towards a person who had essentially kidnapped them. Of course it was absurd, but a part of her couldn’t help but feel that liking the Doctor would almost be a betrayal to her mother, who had to be suffering without Alba there to provide either financial or emotional support. Still, she had read once in a book that holding hate in your heart was like drinking poison and expecting the object of your loathing to die in your stead. There was no point in hating the Doctor she decided, she had nothing to gain from it. Without hate, and not sure if she could bring herself to like him, she wasn’t sure what that actually left her with other than a hollow feeling inside.

“Rose, what the hell? You didn’t answer the door when I knocked and...shit, did you severe a vein or something!?”

The sound of Jack’s slightly panicked voice snapped her out of her thoughts and she looked down to see blood pouring down the back of her calf. Somehow she had nicked herself something fierce shaving, and she’d been so out of it that she hadn’t even felt it! Suddenly though, the sight of her blood bright red and swirling away from her made her feel a bit woozy, and the razor slipped out of her hand and fell onto the tile outside of the tub with a clatter. She stood up to retrieve it and her vision swam, and then she felt Jack catching her under the arms when she slipped on the surface of the tub, still slick from the olive oil.

It might’ve been awkward, her wet and naked body pressed against him, but she was still bleeding everywhere and feeling dizzy. Jack deposited her gently on the toilet, and fished through the drawers until he found what he was looking for: individual disposable styptic wipes. 

“I won’t even lie...this will hurt like hell. All the damn technology we have, and they haven’t designed a no-sting hemostatic yet. Sometimes the old-fashioned way works best, I guess.”

Alba swore and nearly kicked him in the face when he pressed the wipe against the cut on her calf. For his part, Jack didn’t even seem insulted by this. He was kneeling on the floor, pressing the styptic against her calf and staring at her toes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him. He was still staring down, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Nothing, Rose. It’s just from down here, I’m about eye level with your...anyway, yeah. I’m trying to be a gentleman, that’s all,” he said, and his voice was thick.

“Oh. Yeah right, right, of course you are,” she said, feeling embarrassed. He got up and grabbed her towel, and threw it at her. She caught it and draped it loosely around her body, using her arms to hold it pressed against her sides. Jack stayed across the room, leaning stiffly against the counter, and even from her vantage point she could tell that his posture wasn’t the only part of him that was stiff at the moment. A stupid, wistful part of her almost wished it had been Jack who’d kidnapped her then, because at least he was kind to her and explained things and seemed to get her. She couldn’t say she wasn’t attracted to him either, and she swallowed hard, on the verge of doing something that was definitely stupid. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, getting up off the toilet and letting the towel fall away from her body. That time, Jack didn’t look away as she approached him. She pressed her breasts against his chest and reached between them to stroke him through his trousers. “But what about you?”

“Rose…” he groaned into her mouth as she pressed her lips against him. “This isn’t just a bad idea, it’s single-handedly the worst of the decade, probably also the century, possibly the millennium.”

“You said yourself the Doctor would be gone for hours. Don’t you want me, Jack?” she purred against him.

“Of course I do, any hot blooded man would...but Rose, you are seriously forbidden fruit,” Jack said shakily, gently prising her off of him. ‘And besides, I have a boyfriend. Alonso, remember?”

Jack didn’t look nearly as sure of himself as he sounded when he said this.

“And I have a fiance, apparently, but I quite think I like you better. You’re kind and handsome and you make me feel good without terrifying me. Why can’t we just disappear somewhere together, away from here?” she pleaded.

“Rose...please. The Doctor is like a brother to me. I can’t. That, and we don’t have enough money to disappear from him. If the Doctor wants to find you...believe me, he will. If circumstances were different...the things I would do to you,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. “But they aren’t. It is what it is.”

Alba was deflated. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, doing that to you. I’m just out of my head still with all of this.”

Sensing her embarrassment and guilt, Jack smiled devilishly in an attempt to diffuse it. “Well, in your defense, I am all kinds of irresistible. Can’t blame a girl for tryin’.”

“Shut up, you chav!” she said, snapping her towel at him.

“Takes one to know one, doll.”

* * * * *

Jack had already left for his dinner date by the time the Doctor came home. Alba had done a lot of things to keep her mind busy: she’d finished shaving her legs (uneventful), she’d put curlers in her hair (disastrous; it was too humid and they looked more like waves than curls), she’d primped and poked and moisturized and toned and done everything in the world to take her mind off of the things Jack had told her and the embarrassment of being rebuffed when she’d thrown herself at him. Even after all the primping she’d still had time to kill, so she had started making beef stew and reading in the kitchen. She was perched on a stool, a mug of tea in one hand and book in the other when the Doctor came walking into the room. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and the two of them stared uncomfortably at each other for what felt like an eternity and couldn’t have been more than a minute.

“What are you reading?” he finally asked, coming into the kitchen and pouring himself a mug of tea from the kettle.

“It’s called _Words of Passion, Words of Love: the Best Love Poems Written by Women”_ ,” she said, turning a page. “They’re all older, though, all from Earth. They certainly don’t write them like this anymore. Sometimes I wish I grew up on that world...they just seemed so full of love and longing. It was more romantic. Here, it’s all dirty text messages and...well, other stuff,” she said, thinking that ‘slave exchanges’ probably fell quite neatly into that descriptive category of ‘other stuff’..

“Do you want to be romanced, Rose?” he asked, coming to stand behind her so he could trail his fingers across the back of her neck. She shivered. She had missed his touch, how electric it felt to her.

“Doesn’t every woman?” she asked in response, leaning against him and nuzzling the underside of his chin with the top of her head.

“That’s a non-answer. I asked what you wanted, not what everyone else wants. You..Alba Prentice. Rose Tyler. What is it that you want? Do you want to be romanced and courted?” he asked, stepping around her so that they were face to face.

“Well...what do you mean?” she asked, thinking she probably knew what he meant, but almost afraid to answer the question she thought he was asking.

“I mean when you’re awake late at night, staring up at the ceiling, thinking of the mistakes you’ve made in the past and how you might avoid them in the future, thinking about the things you want and need, what does that picture look like? Do you want your own career? True love? Money? Power? Passion? What?” he asked, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes with fierce intensity.

“Why are you asking me this now?” she asked him, confused.

“Because,” he said, as if that were all the answer she required. Biting her lip, she looked back at him and knew that not answering was not an option.

So she decided to take a shot at being truthful, instead. “I want to fall in love, and have it be worth it. I want to be with someone whom I trust completely, who understands me perfectly and still loves me anyway. I want someone who will make love to me when I can’t fall asleep, and hold me when I’m cold and dance with me in the rain. I want someone who will make me smile through the tears. I want someone who I can’t breathe without, who is such a part of me that he is essential to my existence. I want to be so consumed by him that I can’t tell where I end and he begins, and I want him to feel the same way about me. I want to fall in love with a person that I could make a life and family of my own with, because I never had one growing up. That’s what I want, John,” she said, choosing to use his name instead of his presumed title. She held her breath, waiting for any sort of reaction from him at all. 

She certainly wasn’t expecting him to do what he actually did, which was to take the book from her, and start flipping through it. _Really? You’re doing that now?_ she thought.

He seemed to find what he was looking for though, as he stopped flipping, adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and began to read:

“ _We, unaccustomed to courage  
exiles from delight  
live coiled in shells of loneliness  
until love leaves its high holy temple  
and comes into our sight  
to liberate us into life._

_Love arrives  
and in its train come ecstasies  
old memories of pleasure  
ancient histories of pain.  
Yet if we are bold,  
love strikes away the chains of fear  
from our souls._

_We are weaned from our timidity  
In the flush of love’s light  
we dare be brave  
And suddenly we see  
that love costs all we are  
and will ever be.  
Yet it is only love  
which sets us free._”

He unfolded his glasses and tucked them into his pocket, and set the book down on the counter. The air was so still, you could’ve heard a penny drop, but all Alba could hear was the nervous thump of her heart inside her chest and her breathing, which had quickened noticeably.

“Miss Angelou was a lot more eloquent than I could ever hope to be,” he said softly, and now their faces were so close together that she could feel her eyelashes brushing against his skin.

“Why me?” she asked.

“Why you for a wife? Or why you from the slave exchange, out of all the other girls there?” he asked, cupping her face in the palm of his hand.

“Isn’t the answer the same?” she asked.

He chuckled to himself, as though she had unknowingly uttered the punchline to a rather amusing private joke. “I suppose you’re right, to a point. Why you out all the other girls there? Because when I talked to you, you were fiery and clever and passionate. The fight, the spark of life, it was still bright in you. So many of those other girls...they were beautiful to look at it, but they were essentially just flesh bags, already dead on the inside. You...reminded me of someone I cared for a great deal a very long time ago.”

Alba tried not to seem too interested by that last remark, although knowing what she did about him of course it sparked her curiosity, wondering if he was talking about his wife or some other woman he had loved.

“And as a wife…?”

“Well, you said it. The answers are practically the same.”

“Oh,” she nodded nervously, swallowing. The atmosphere in the room had changed, and it felt as though something were about to happen. “Well, quid pro quo, Doctor. I told you what I want. Now you...tell me what you really want?”

“I think I might have already found it,” he replied, pulling her to him and kissing her with the urgency and fervor of a man returning from war.


	10. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and dessert to lead to dancing in the library. And dancing leads to...?

The snog was just a tease though, as he broke off the kiss and hugged her instead. “I’m sorry that I’m an emotional, violent arsehole drunk. I was having a rough week, and I used you like a human stress toy, treated you terribly. It’s no wonder you had a knife hidden..I would be terrified of me, too. But I really am glad you’re here. You have no idea what it’s been like being here alone, feeling like I was going mad for the company of another human being,” he said, his voice serious. Then, he hastily added, “Even if it’s only for the time being. It’s good to have a woman’s company. You are a bright spot in the darkness.”

She was surprised by his sudden show of sincerity, and almost felt bad for wondering if he was being honest. How could he lay bare something as intimate as his feelings, when there was all the secrecy surrounding his real name, his profession, and where he lived? The man was playing his cards close to the vest for a reason, but she didn’t know what it could possibly be. There could be a number of innocent reasons he might choose to keep these things from her, as simple as wanting to gauge her trust before telling her, perhaps. When she thought of it like that, she supposed it made perfect sense from his perspective to be careful what he told her. Even with their financial arrangement, there was nothing to stop her from leaving when her end of the bargain had been completed and going directly to the police if she knew who he was. Keeping those details a secret ensured that when she did leave, she probably wouldn’t be able to find or identify him again, not unless he wanted her to.

Then, a more chilling thought: _What if he never actually intends to let me go?_

She realized she’d been quiet for a long time since his admission, and he was beginning to get that pained look of a man who’s just told a woman that he loves her only to have her respond with either laughter or silence. She cleared her throat, and smiled at him. “I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard. That’s the most earnest and sincere thing you’ve said to me since I’ve met you, I think. You must be drinking the moonlight tonight.”

“The pot is burning,” he replied, pointing behind her.

“What? No, I hadn’t been smoking today. Already felt kind of like I must be on drugs as it was. A wedding dress fitting in a blindfold and headphones, kind of strange…”

“No, I mean the pot on the stove. It must’ve overflowed a bit, the burner is smoking,” he said, gesturing more urgently.

“Oh!” she said alarmed, but before she could react he had shut off the burner, plucked the stew from the stove, set it on the back burner, and started beating out the low flame with a damp kitchen towel. The flame smouldered and went out.

“Hmm. I guess this means I can say that both you and your cooking are smokin’ hot,” he chuckled, giving her a cheeky grin.

“Oh, spare me the puns. You’ve been hanging around your friend Jack too long, I think,”she said, rolling her eyes.

“Stop talking about other men when I’m trying to give you a compliment,” he teased, his voice light but firm.

“Stop sending other men to hang out with me, then. He’s the only other person I’ve seen since this whole thing started, of course I’m going to talk to him,” she said, poking her tongue out at him.

“Did you ruin dinner?” he asked mildly, taking the lid off the pot to peer at the contents.

“No, I _did not_ ruin dinner,” she said indignantly, bumping him out of the way with her hip. She stirred the stew with a big metal spoon, and gave it a taste. “You might want a little extra salt and pepper, but it doesn’t taste ruined to me.”

“Did you make dessert?” he asked.

“I’m sweet, does that count?” she quipped back at him.

“No, that’s okay if you didn’t. I had something else in mind, actually...since you like to cook,” he said, suddenly sounding a bit shy. “I thought we could make a cake together. It’s just...well, I can’t lie. You got me thinking the other night, when you said that smoking gets you...anyway, yeah. I have a very good recipe for cannabis oil, and an even better recipe for a flourless chocolate cake. It’s a different buzz than smoking, a total body high. You..you might like it.”

“Are you some kind of head?” she asked, laughing. He frowned at her, the blush creeping up his collar.

“Hardly, no. I grow because I’m a chemist, and I use it in my research. And as for the cannabis oil...even I was a college boy once. But I actually learned to make it when someone I knew got cancer. They recommended medicinal marijuana for his pain, but he hated smoking, so I came up with the perfect oil recipe and started baking for him instead. Oil aside, my chocolate cake non-cake never fails to impress. Besides...I don’t want to drink, and it’d be nice to unwind. It’s just a suggestion, though,” he said casually.

“I’m game. But first, stew. Real food. Starving. Jack’s an alright cook, but his culinary skills are not on par with my own.”

“No, no they definitely aren’t,” the Doctor agreed with a laugh, reaching over her head to get the bowls out of the cabinet. They sat down and ate dinner together, and for all his teasing about how she ruined dinner, it didn’t stop him from inhaling three bowls of stew. He probably would’ve eaten a fourth one, too, if she hadn’t raised her eyebrows at him when he’d made to get up and go back for more. Instead, he played it off and put his bowl in the sink, and made a show of washing up instead.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my job?” she asked, bringing her bowl and spoon over.

“You cooked, I can clean. Life is about compromise,” he said cheerfully, scrubbing out the soup pot.

Who was this alien man and what had he done with the Doctor? Or maybe he really was just a mean drunk, and that was it. She couldn’t believe it could ever be anything that simple, though. After he’d finished the dishes, he pulled a jar with a dark green and opaque substance that she assumed was the oil. He pulled out butter, eggs, the vanilla bean paste, semi-sweet chocolate squares, and a bag of plain white sugar that must have been hiding earlier. He premeasured the ingredients with the sort of precision she would expect from a scientist. He grabbed a couple of other things from the cupboard and fridge, and continued making measurements.

“The oil is made with coconut oil. Good for baking, but you have to use some real butter too, for flavor and texture,” he explained, melting the butter and oil together in a small saucepan. He chopped up the chunks of chocolate and passed them over to her. “Here, mix these in slowly, and keep stirring until it’s melted. Watch the temperature, you don’t want it to seize up.”

“Look at you, baking a flourless cake. I know men that can’t boil taste. What’d you need someone who could cook for?” she asked, teasing.

“I never said I couldn’t cook, I just generally prefer to spend my time doing other things. Besides, if you’re going to spend that kind of money on a girl, you might as well make sure she can cook and clean.”

“Right. Because that’s all women are good for is cooking and cleaning,” Alba said, poking him in the side.

“I _did not_ say that,” he groused. Now it was his turn to play the indignant one as he whisked the eggs, vanilla, and sugar together in a bowl. Though Alba was familiar with the type of torte recipe he was using, she deferred to him, allowing him to guide her through the process rather than interrupting him to tell him she knew how to do it. In less than twenty minutes they had the cake covered in foil and sitting in a water bath in the oven. The Doctor switched it into convection mode, and swore to her it would take less than half an hour for the cake to cook, but an hour for it to set.

“That’s a long time to wait for cake when I want it now,” she told him solemnly.

“I promise it’ll be worth the wait, but if you’re really impatient I can put it in the freezer and we can eat it after thirty minutes. It’ll be more like chocolate custard than flourless cake, but it’ll still be delicious.”

“Are you trying to use chocolate and mary jane to seduce me?” she asked him, dragging her finger through what was left of the melted chocolate mixture in the bowl. Before she could bring the finger to her mouth to lick it clean, he caught her hand and did the job for her. Slowly. She watched him do this, lips very slightly parted.

“Yes. Yes I am. Is it working?” he asked her, a twinkle in his eye.

“Not in the slightest,” she said, deadpan. “What sort of a chemist are you, anyway?”

“Organic and analytical,” he told her, and again she was surprised at his forthrightness, though science had never been her strong subject, so she only had the most basic idea of what that actually meant. “Also, you’re a liar. It’s totally working.”

“How would you know?” she asked him flippantly, although she didn’t deny the accusation. He was being downright charming this evening, but she still was cautious around him. His moods had gone from hot and cold so easily before, she wasn’t sure that it couldn’t happen again.

“Scientist, remember? We’re observant. Your pupils are dilated, you’re smiling and biting your lips, you’re blushing, and I can see your nipples through that dress.”

“I just really love chocolate,” she told him, maintaining the serious expression on her face. He swiped his own finger through the chocolatey remnants in the bowl, and offered it to her. Wordlessly, she accepted and grasped his hand by the wrist. She popped his finger in her mouth and rolled her tongue around it until all the chocolate was gone. It had a faint, earthy taste from the cannabis oil, but it was almost imperceptible amongst the dark chocolate and other ingredients. At this rate though, she wondered if they would even make it to the actual cake.

“Is it hot in here?” he asked, fanning himself with his hand.

“Probably. The oven is on, after all,” she teased, knowing perfectly well that wasn’t what he had meant, although now a part of her wanted to see for how long she could prolong his agony, never mind her own.

“You’re a cheeky girl,” he whispered against her neck, and the things that he was doing there with his lips and tongue felt quite nice.

“No cheekier than you, I’d wager,” she said, pulling away from him. He tugged at her imploringly, like a child. She looked at the kitchen timer, and was surprised to see how much time had already gone by. The cake was just about ready to come out of the oven. “Cake is almost done.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s almost done,” he muttered under his breath. She pretended not to hear him, and when the timer buzzed she carefully pulled the cake out of its water bath and let it to set on top of the stove. He came up behind her and peered over her shoulder at it when she peeled back the foil. “Looks good. You’re really supposed to let it set for a few hours, but if you want to speed set it you can cover it with wax paper and stick it in the ice box.”

“ _Stick it in_ the freezer, mmm?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. It was almost too easy to get him to blush. 

“You...are a bad, bad woman,” he said, shaking his head as he watched her bend over to pull out the ice box drawer.

“Yeah, well...you picked me,” she retorted, glad he couldn’t see her smiling.

“That I did,” he agreed. “That I did.”

While they waited for the cake to set the rest of the way (more at her insistence than his), she put on a fresh kettle and they had tea, trading small talk and witticisms while they waited. She hadn’t looked at the clock in a while, but the hour felt late. “You don’t have work in the morning, do you?”

“No, thank God,” he said, sounding a bit frustrated at the mere mention of his job.

“Work been stressful lately?” she asked conversationally, although she of course had her own ulterior motives for asking..

“You could say that, yeah,” he said, and his tone indicated that the subject was closed. 

Now she was even more intrigued. He’d had no problem sharing that he was a chemist with her, but evidently he didn’t want to go into anything more specific than that. Again, she couldn’t help but wonder exactly what his job entailed that he was so secretive about it. Then, something that Jack had said to her popped into her head. She debated bringing it up, not wanting to possibly get Jack in trouble. He had told her that in order for the Doctor to retain control of his finances, he had to be married, but it had sounded like he had started to say business instead. Thinking better than to risk betraying her only confidant, she decided not to mention it, although she wondered if maybe that was how the Doctor had come by his wealth; he owned his own chemical business of some sort?

“It should be set up enough that we can eat it now, if you’d like,” he said, interrupting her musings.

“If I’d like? Why else have I been sitting here, if not for cake?” she asked, throwing up her arms in mock upset.

“For the witty repartee, I figured,” he said, getting up to retrieve the pan from the icebox. He cut them each a small sliver from the cake and put the portions in . He was right about doing the quick set-the texture was more French custard than flourless cake, but he hadn’t lied when he’d said it was delicious. She had finished her slice in no time at all. 

“So you didn’t like it all I guess?” he asked her sarcastically. 

“No. Definitely not,” she said, licking the fork.

He gave her an amused eyebrow raise, and finished his own slice. “It can take up to an hour to kick in sometimes, depending on how fast your metabolism is.”

“I could always speed up the process by eating another slice of cake,” she suggested.

“Let’s see how you make it through this one first,” he said, depositing their bowls in the sink. “May I suggest we move to the library? Music and possibly a nightcap? The nightcap being in the singular,” he added for clarity’s sake.

“I don’t suppose why not,” she said, and she wasn’t sure if the bubbly, giddy feeling she was starting to get in her stomach were the cake, or just him. He walked her out of the kitchen with his arm arm around her waist.

“Shall I light a fire?” he asked her when they got to the library.

“Do you think we’ll be spending that much time here?” she asked him honestly.

“I suppose not,” he replied, instead choosing to drop a record onto the player. As the music queued up, he offered her his hand. “May I?”

Alba laughed nervously. “I’m not all that good of a formal dancer.”

His eyes were already dancing, and she felt her stomach drop into her knees when he lowered that smoldering gaze to her own. “And this isn’t a formal dance. The trick is just to keep moving your feet,” he said, pulling her to him. 

Together they swayed slowly in front of the fireplace. He let his hands come to rest on her hips, and she leaned her head against his chest. Something in the gesture felt very comfortable and familiar, and she sighed, almost contentedly if she was being honest with herself. This had been a semi-normal evening, minus the Dutch-style dessert. Dinner, dessert, and dancing. With her husband-to-be. Two weeks ago she’d been a shop girl, and now...this. It still felt surreal, like any moment someone would either wake her up or tell it had all been part of some very terrible reality TV show (she had seen stranger, including the one where the lady married a giant cat).

The sensations of his lips pressed against her own and his hips tilting to meet hers felt real enough, though. She clung tighter to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and parting her lips just slightly. His ran his tongue across her bottom lip and nipped her gently, eliciting a low, throaty growl from her in response. His fingers were lightly tracing the curve of her spine, and she felt one of his hands slip down the open back of her dress to cup her arse before moving back up to rest on her hip again. They were less dancing now, more so holding each other in an embrace that was becoming increasingly salacious. He nestled his head in the crook of her neck and just barely brushed his lips across her collarbones, sending a shiver up her spine and making the heat in her belly tense and coil. His one hand crept up to bury itself in her hair, keeping her face upturned, her lips pressed against his, his mouth tasting her own hungrily, but not forcefully. 

Finally, he pulled back from her, his breathing a bit ragged. “Come to bed with me.”

“In your bedroom? Like to sleep?” she asked, eyes going wide. She still hadn’t even found the front door yet, let alone seen his bedroom. It was a prospect that both thrilled and terrified her. 

“Yes in my bedroom, and no, not to sleep. Not right away, anyway,” he said, giving her that wide, toothy grin that she now wasn’t sure if it made her uncomfortable or aroused. “So...are you coming?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked, feeling a sudden germ of doubt curling within her. What if his bedroom was the room where he kept the whips and chains and Iron Maiden? Just because he’d seemed almost normal tonight didn’t mean she had so quickly forgotten the way he had been with her before.

“Well yes...of course you do. I don’t want to make you feel like you don’t. We can play at being husband and wife without having to be intimate with each other, but I thought it was kind of obvious. There’s something between us, and you feel it too.”

She resisted the urge to tell him that there _was_ something between them, and it was currently poking her in the stomach. There was no fire burning in the library, at least not in the real sense of the word, but there was a heat and energy that was palpable coming off the two of them.

“So what do you say?” he coaxed, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb.

“Yes.”


	11. Safe This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When she caught her breath to look down at him, he was looking up at her as though the world started and ended here between them. Maybe it did. Something imperceptible had changed between them, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was exactly that felt different."

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alba said in disbelief, staring at the place where the wall had opened up to reveal a wide, curving marble staircase. “So...any chance you’re a chemist and a secret agent? Because this? This is some secret agent lair shit,” she giggled. After the Doctor had invited her to bed with him and she had accepted, he had taken her hand and lead her down the hall to a nondescript door.

She had opened it to find a coat closet, and shot him a funny look. “Are we going to bed, or playing seven minutes in heaven?”

“Just go inside,” he’d said, shoving her in ahead of him without waiting for a response. He’d pulled the door shut behind them, and reached over his head to pull the chain that turned on the lights. 

They had been standing very close together, and the coats had only made it feel that much more crowded. She had stared at him, uncomprehending and unamused. He’d urged her through the coats, ducking his head under the rack behind her. She’d been surprised to find that past the coats the space opened up a little bit. What had looked to her a bit like a fuse box was flush with the left corner of the wall, and the Doctor had opened the cover, bent down in front of it, and then a few seconds later the wall directly in front of her had slid up, revealing the staircase.

He didn’t say anything in response to her exclamations, just looked pleased with himself, like a cat who’s caught a bird he’d been after for a while. “After you,” he whispered, gesturing to the staircase. Once she started up he followed behind her, and it wasn’t a long walk to the top of the landing. The single, solid wooden door featured a series of intricate and elaborate etchings that looked like a pattern or symbols. She couldn’t make sense of it, but it was beautiful.

“Old symbols of protection,” he said from behind her, as if sensing her curiosity. He reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a long, thin cylindrical object with a blue bulb at the end of it. Blue light pulsing and emitting a high-pitched whine, he aimed the device at the door and it popped right open. 

“What the hell…?” she gaped at the open door, and then at him, spinning the device between his fingers with a satisfied grin before tucking it back into his pocket. “What the hell was that?”

“That, Rose, was my sonic screwdriver. It’s just one of my many inventions, has a couple of useful functions, and a lot of pointless ones too, actually. But one of the things it’s really good at is opening doors. It resonates sound waves and _pop_! The locks open right up,” he said, his grin widening.

“Isn’t that like...illegal?” she asked.

“Weeeeell...the device isn’t available to the general public anyway. Strictly my own thing,” he said, pushing the door open. He beckoned her inside, and shut the door behind them, locking it from the inside with a key already in the lock. “Besides...things here are a little different than they were..or are...in New London. The laws here aren’t the same.”

“No one will even tell me where ‘here’ is, but they sure keep talking about it,” she said, sounding put out. She was looking around the room now for the first time, surprised. She hadn’t really been sure what to expect, but she didn’t know that it was this.

They seemed to be in some kind of antechamber, with thick, blue velvet curtains hanging around the door and on the walls. A giant teak wood dresser nestled out of one set of curtains, and a full standing mirror was positioned across from it. Three marble steps lead up from the antechamber to the actual bedroom, where a giant canopy bed across from a massive marble fireplace dominated the room. Opposite of the fireplace, a bank of windows looked down on the city below. Beyond the bed and the fireplace, three more marble steps lead up to an area lined with bookshelves with large, overstuffed living chairs on either side of the space. In the middle of the bookshelves was another door, which she assumed lead to a walk-in or ensuite.

“Not all secrets are bad secrets, Alba. Some are just secret because they have to be. The less you know about some things, the safer you are. I learned that the hard way, a long time ago. Secrets keep us safe,” he said, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb again.

“Like the secret of why you look at me like you’re seeing a ghost sometimes?” she asked, pressing her palm against his hand, which was already cupping her cheek. She knew it was treading thin ice even as she said it, but she was curious to see how he’d react. He dropped his hand when she said this, and stepped back to look at her.

“What do you mean I look at you like I’m seeing a ghost sometimes?” he asked her, his tone steady.

“You told me I remind you of someone...and then sometimes I just catch you looking at me in a way that...I don’t even know how to describe the way it feels. It’s like you’re looking at me and remembering something, but I don’t know what it is you could possibly be remembering, not when we hardly know each other. Who are you really seeing when you look at me?” she asked him softly.

“I’m just seeing you, Rose. You remind me of someone I loved once...but you aren’t her,” he said, and his voice was heavy, tinged with something. Regret? Longing? Pain? He just looked so maudlin then that she regretted having said anything in the first place. Part of her had expected fire and anger at the suggestion. This was almost pitiful, and somehow worse.

“Well, nevermind all that. Forget I even asked,” she said, moving to close the gap between them. 

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she smiled at him seductively and began to slide his jacket from his shoulders. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t make a move to protest, either. His eyes were large and dark, watching her as she moved to take his tie off. She hadn’t dated many men who’d worn ties, and she was unaccustomed to taking them off of another person. This time though, her inexperience at the task didn’t seem to bother him, and he waited patiently for her fingers to pull the knot loose and slide the tie off of him. It wasn’t inexperience, but nerves that made her fingers shake when it came to undoing the buttons on his shirt and trousers. It wasn’t as though this was the first time they were seeing each other naked or having sex, but something about this night was different from the previous two encounters, and had her the sort of nervous-skittish she’d been the night she’d lost her virginity. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and tilted her head up to kiss him while she pushed his trousers and pants over his hips and to the floor. With amusement, she noticed he was wearing trainers with his suit.

“Sorry,” he whispered apologetically as she bent down to untie them, though he didn’t elaborate further on his unique footwear choices.

“No, s’alright. I kind of like them. Very punk rock. Matches the spikey hair quite nice, I think,” she said, loosening the laces. When she’d done that he just kicked the shoes off, and used his toes to peel his socks off. Bemused, she couldn’t help but grin at him. He was completely naked and slowly growing hard again, but she was still almost entirely fully clothed, save for the shoes she had abandoned a while ago, before they’d even gone to the library.

“I’ll be sure to file that away for future reference,” he said, turning her so that her bare back was facing him. 

He placed a hand on each shoulder and moved slowly to loosen the knot that held her halter up, making sure to stroke his fingers across the back of her neck and ears as he did. Each minute touch set her body tingling, and by the time he’d untied the knot and let the garment fall from her body to pool around her feet, she was pulled as taut as a violin string. He pressed himself against her, and she could feel him, hot and hard against the small of her back. Against the back of her neck she felt the brush of his lips, warm and moist as he kissed his way from shoulder to shoulder. She felt his arms wrap around her body, his hands creep up to cup her breasts. Lightly, he began pull and tug on her nipples as he continued to kiss her neck, and she couldn’t help it, she was leaning back against him and sighing breathlessly.

While his right hand continued to massage her breasts in turn, the left trailed down her body, stopping to rest on her hip. She felt his fingers tracing patterns there, moving their way across her abdomen so that his hand was hovering right below her navel. His fingers just brushed through her curls, teasing, making her shiver in anticipation. He grazed past her clit, dipping one finger between her folds to feel that she was nearly ready for him. He groaned a little against her shoulder, and she felt him shift to pick her up, cradling her against him like a newborn child or a new bride. Carefully, he carried her up the three marble steps to the bed, where he arranged her almost reverently on top of the duvet before climbing onto the bed after her. She laid on her side, slightly propped up by the pillows she was resting on. He stretched out on his side and turned to face her, letting his right hand rest on her left hip. She shifted, moving her body closer to him so that they were almost face to face. The look on his face was one of quiet contemplation, but his gaze was fixed on her and it was a bit unsettling. He almost seemed to be studying her, and even as his hands moved to caress her body she could see that his mind was still moving a million miles an hour in that head. She knew better than to ask a man what was going through his mind in the middle of the bedroom, though.

If he truly was distracted by other thoughts, she couldn’t tell the difference. He seemed content to map every inch of her body with his fingers and lips, tasting and touching as he went, starting at the soft spot on her neck right below her ear, where her pulse beat hot and fast, and moving downwards from there. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her the cake would give her a total body high-part of her felt like she was floating, untethered. The only thing anchoring her to the bed were his touches, which burned impossibly hot against her body when she already felt consumed by the flames of desire. He took turns sucking on each of her nipples like they were hard candies, nipping and licking the sensitive little peaks of flesh until they were aching, poking up hard and straight and she was gasping and trembling underneath him. He flicked them gently with his fingers, smiling when she groaned and started biting on her own fingers. Apparently satisfied that he had wound her up quite enough, he moved to part her tightly clenched and shaking thighs, stroking gently there between her folds. Her hips twitched at the teasing touch, her body craving relief from the hot tension pooling like lava in her core. He dipped his head between her thighs, lifted her arse up off the bed enough that he was able to maneuver her legs to rest on his shoulders, and began to give her clit an enthusiastic encore performance of what he had been doing to her nipples just recent moments ago.

Unable to bury her hands in his hair as she might have liked to, she instead clutched at the pillows and sheets around her for purchase, feeling for all the world like she desperately needed something to hold onto or she’d be entirely swept away. When she climaxed a few moments later, it was his name on her lips as she cried out her passion. He rested his head against the bare skin of her thigh, his hair tickling softly against her as she waited, breathless, to see what he would do next. When she caught her breath to look down at him, he was looking up at her as though the world started and ended here between them. Maybe it did. Something imperceptible had changed between them, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was exactly that felt different.

After a minute or two of resting his head between her legs, he drew himself back up and moved to straddle her hips, using his open palms against the bed as leverage. Just the head of his cock was brushing against the still sensitive nub of her clit, and she had to suck in her breath and hold it there to avoid letting out another shallow, throaty moan. He hovered there above her, looking down on her again with that tense, piercing gaze that made her feel as if he could see through every last little facade she could possibly put up against him. When he kissed her she tasted herself on his lips, but his mouth and tongue tasted like tears, and she thought of his dead wife and daughter and had to resist the sudden urge to weep openly for him. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused on the way his bare skin felt against her own, how it should almost be too hot but instead felt like they were just two candles being held to the same flame, each constantly keeply the other alight.

He dropped back down so that their chests were pressed tight against each other and moved his arms so that they were resting behind her back and he was slightly embracing her, his hands clasping her shoulders from behind. The arrangement of their bodies like this felt surprisingly intimate, making Alba only more acutely aware of how different this night was from the others. That first night he had fucked her like it was a punishment, and in most ways, it had felt like one. Certainly, her body had looked like it had been abused the day after. That second night they had never made it past the oral portion of the program in her bedroom, but there had been an urgency and ferocity to their movements that was lacking in this encounter. Now, the Doctor seemed to be taking his time with her, lavishing her body with slow, salacious kisses and touches, as though he were making up for what had gone before, apologizing to the tender flesh that he’d bitten and bruised. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him onwards and inwards with the motion of her hips. He accepted her body’s invitation, holding her tightly against him and kissing her firmly on the lips as he slid inside of her and began to thrust.

She arched her back underneath him, sliding her own arms up and underneath of his to clasp him tightly around the back, her fingernails digging into the scant meat of his shoulders. He moaned appreciatively into her mouth when she did this, so she dug in a little bit harder (okay, maybe a lot) and drew her fingers down his spine. When she felt something damp beneath her fingertips, she wasn’t sure if she had drawn blood or if he was just getting sweaty with the exertion of...and what was this they were doing? It felt so incredibly intimate, the sort of the thing you did with a trusted lover and not just a casual shag, but they were hardly either of those things. 

Whatever they were, it was so much more complicated than that. She was afraid though that if she tried to put a name to what it was they were doing, that it would all fall apart around her. Instead, she nipped his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth where she continued to nibble on it. If she had drawn blood, he didn’t seem to mind either way. She felt his thrusts growing more urgent and she moved her hips to match his pace, gasping and clenching tightly around him when he began to grind against her pelvic bone. He let out a shaky, gasping sigh against the side of her throat, emptying himself into her just as she began to shudder in the throes of her own orgasm. 

She expected him to roll off and away from her, as he had last time, so the fact that he stayed there like that, still clasping her tightly in his arms caught her off guard. He was muttering something inaudible against her shoulder, although it sounded a bit like _”...keep us safe this time”_. Finally, he rolled off of her and urged her onto her side, nestling himself up against her and draping an arm protectively over her hip. He was...spooning her?

With a strange knot forming in her stomach, Alba realized she had just made love with her kidnapper...and in had been good.


	12. Forcing the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Rose sleeps, Jack and a drunken Doctor discuss some bad news from New London.

Long after Alba’s breathing had slowed and steadied with the rhythm of sleep, the Doctor laid awake staring at the ceiling, thinking of how foolish he was, even after everything that had happened. Had he learned nothing? After the circus riot of a business meeting in New London, the absolute last thing he should have done was come home and tried to play house with her. It was only going to make their inevitable parting down the line that much harder on him. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat there contemplating for a moment. Quietly, he grabbed his dressing gown off the hook on the wall and crept down the marble steps to the antechamber. With the practiced ease of someone who is accustomed to sneaking about, he slipped out the door, down the stairs, and back into the hallway. She was asleep now, and he knew there was no chance of him finding sleep himself at that point, so instead he went to the library and poured himself a scotch.

When he’d gone to the slave exchange in search of a girl he could make disappear and then make into a temporary wife, he hadn’t been looking for anyone extraordinary. In fact, he’d gone in with low expectations of girls who would likely be of only average intelligence, demure, but lacking in personality, broken and lacking in spirit. Imagine his surprise to find Alba, who was funny and feisty, clever and beautiful, and by some unlikely coincidence happened to resemble his dead wife a great deal more than he was comfortable admitting out loud, especially not after Alba had told him outright that she sometimes felt like he was looking right through her at times. He had denied it wholeheartedly, of course, but it had unsettled him to think that perhaps he was a bit more transparent than he realized at times. Why was he so smitten with her, anyway? Was he falling in love with Alba, or falling in love with the memory of his dead wife, whom he’d had ten years to elevate to a status of perfection? When Romana had died, the two of them had barely been on speaking terms, as much as that hurt to admit to himself even now.

The scotch glass was emptied and refilled several times before he thought to fumble his mobile out of his pocket and dial Jack Harkness’s number. Jack was better with this stuff, always had been. He seemed to get it, make some of the connections that he himself was unable to at times.

“...hello?” Jack answered, his voice groggy.

“S’me...I’m back from New London. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” he slurred, setting his glass down roughly on the table beside him.

“Evidently. Can’t imagine you’d be calling me at half past four in the morning pissed drunk because everything went swimmingly. What the hell even happened?” the other man asked, obviously aggravated at having been disturbed at this hour.

“Better ask what didn’t happen. Probably easier to just show you, you won’t believe me if I try to explain. Come over,” he hiccupped.

“Now? Fuck off of it, I’m in bed with Alonso. And you should be in bed too, you drunk asshole. Wait...where is Rose?” Jack asked, his voice suddenly lucid and clear with concern.

“She’s upstairs, asleep. In my bedroom. So no...I really shouldn’t go back to bed, Jack, she’s why I got out of bed in the first place. I didn’t want her to see me like this...again. Come over,” he hiccupped again. He heard the sigh and grumble from the other end, but knew that meant he’d probably already gotten his way.

“You let her see the Bat Cave? I’ve never even seen your bedroom, and we’ve been friends practically our whole lives!”

“Do you want to see my bedroom?” the Doctor asked, amused.

“Well, yeah, it’s a secret lair. Can I?”

“No. Now come over.”

“Alright, alright, just keep your shorts on, I’ll be over as soon as I can. And leave Rose alone...she’s had enough of your drunken antics to last a life already, I think.”

“I won’t bother Rose, I promise,” he said solemnly

“I realize this second request might be futile, but please stop drinking. I don’t want to go over there and just find that you drank yourself into a puddle of vomit of the floor, with absolutely no recollection of having disturbed me at an ungodly hour of the morning to come soothe your over inflated and damaged ego.”

“Gee thanks Harkness, you’re a true friend,” he said sarcastically, but Jack didn’t take the bait.

“I know. See you in thirty. Just stay put, you lush. But seriously...stop drinking!”

* * * * *

Jack looked the legal document in front of him over and over again, but a second and third reading still didn’t help him believe what he was seeing there. Now, he understood why the Doctor was so despondent. All his carefully laid plans to protect the company from the megalomaniacal interests of his half-brother Harry and his crazed bitch of a sister-in-law Rani were for naught.

“I just can’t believe they actually...I mean, shit! They’re terrible people, they don’t even like animals, let alone other people. This has got to be some kind of a joke, or a stunt,” Jack exclaimed, rattling the papers in his hands frustratedly.

“Oh, I’m sure it is a stunt,” the Doctor replied wearily. “But stunt or not, it’s legally ironclad. My father’s will was very specific about the conditions under which the company would change hands in the event that he became incapable of running it, and he was always very specific that he never wanted it to leave the family. When he wrote it, I’m sure he didn’t realize I’d be the one who’d end up getting screwed by the legacy clause. I’m sure he never in his wildest dreams could have imagined that Harry and Rani would actually...yeah. It actually makes me physically ill talking about it, so I’m not going to. When my father made that will, he didn’t even know about Harry, Romana was still alive, and Susanna hadn’t even been born. He had no idea he had a bastard son...literally. He had no idea what would happen to any of us. He wrote the will before he became too senile to do so...it is what it is.”

“Yeah, but...man, what the fuck? I’m just so livid on your behalf, and I’m disgusted that they could be so heartless and manipulative. And they’re the older, more wise and responsible ones supposedly. Can’t you try to fight fire with fire?” Jack asked him, still simmering with anger.

The Doctor laughed, bitterly. “How? I’m already the monster who took a girl from her mother...I won’t be the monster that does that, too. The whole thing is a mess anyway...maybe it’s just better if I sit back and let the pieces fall as they may.”

“You can’t honestly believe that. You know what Harry would do if he had control of the company. He _will_ push through to get a license to produce the vortex manipulator commercially, because it’s profitable. He doesn’t care if some kid accidentally makes dinosaurs extinct or not, so long as he can make a buck while he does it. Never mind if he got his hands on those formulas you’ve been working on lately, which you’ve been using the work lab for… You can’t give up now, there has to be another way.”

“Don’t you get it, Jack? There isn’t another way. Well, maybe there is, but it doesn’t matter because Harry is evil, and he’s always one step ahead of the game. Don’t ask me how, but he knew Rose came from one of the slave exchanges in New London. He confronted me about it over a week ago, after him and Rani came over for dinner that night. I denied it, of course, but I doubt he believed me. I don’t know how he found out. The point is...they’re on to me. And they’re doing this because they know I won’t try to compete with them. That part of my life is over, it ended a long time ago. I was willing to go through with a sham marriage to try and save my father’s company...but I won’t ask Rose to do this and I won’t play at their game.”

“How do you know Rose wouldn’t do it? She grew up on a council estate, and she loves her mother to death. If she thought doing it would mean securing a better future for her and her mother, she probably would. Money talks, especially to those who’ve never had it before.”

“Okay Jack, I’ll bite. Pretend for a second I ask, and she does agree. What happens when it’s time for her to go back to her own time, her own life? What the hell would I do then?” he asked, angrily.

“I’ve only just started to get to know her, but my gut feeling says that she wouldn’t leave, she’d stay. Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Jack prodded gently.

“No, because there’d be outside factors forcing her hand. If she’s going to stay, I want her to stay because it’s a choice she made for herself, not one she made out of a sense of duty or obligation, and not one she made because she had financial motivation to do so,” the Doctor grumbled.

Jack looked utterly gobsmacked. “You’re falling for her, aren’t you?”

“I’m not falling for her. I don’t even know her, Jack. The only thing I do know is that she’s too good for me, and she’s somehow mine anyway. For now. I have some kind of responsibility not to completely sully her...”

“Oh my God, you are! You are totally falling for Rose! That was not part of the original plan…”

“Of course it wasn’t part of the plan!” the Doctor snapped, pouring himself another inch of scotch. “But it’s like..fuck, Jack. It’s like the universe hand-delivered her to me. And she reminds me so much of my Romana in some ways, the good ways...it feels like I’m being given a second chance here.”

“I know you aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead...but Romana and you weren’t even talking when she died. If it wasn’t for the accident...you probably would’ve ended up getting divorced, she would have asked you for one. It’s been so long, you’ve built her up in your mind to be something she never was. Doctor...you were friends, teenagers, who accidentally got pregnant when you were still practically kids. You never should’ve gotten married, and the only reason you did was because your family’s are both old-fashioned. Maybe you guys were best friends once upon a time, but you just weren’t cut out for each other in love. Having a kid is hard on any marriage, let alone with you guys being so young and you already off working full time while she stayed home with the baby. What happened wasn’t your fault. If you’re going to give yourself a second chance, just give yourself permission to forgive yourself for Romana and Susanna, and actually really love the person this time.”

“I loved my wife and daughter,” the Doctor repeated, his voice steely, and Jack got the feeling he was saying it out loud more for his own benefit than anyone else’s.

“I never said you didn’t, but Doctor...things were going down hill. There’s no point pining over what could’ve been in the past when you’ve got the future right in front of you to worry about. If you don’t want Harry taking over the company, selling off _your_ inventions, _your_ formulas, and _your > father’s legacy, than we’ve got to come up with some kind of plan. You should at least talk to Rose about it, see what she says. She’s practical enough. If you frame it for her logically why it makes sense to do it, she might even agree.”_

_“If Sus-if my daughter had lived...she would only be seven years younger than Rose,” the Doctor said, a trace of revulsion and self-loathing hidden in his expression._

_“That’s not the point, and you know it. You could sit here and self-deprecate all night, but I won’t let you. You paid the price for having Rose, you might as well attempt talking to her. I know she’s a just for show wife, but maybe talking to her like a real wife would help.”_

_“I’m not involving Rose,” the Doctor said. “And that’s final. I’ll come up with some other solution. I always do.”_

_Jack hoped the Doctor was right._

_* * * * *_

_Jack didn’t leave until the first rays of the dawn’s early morning light were creeping over the horizon, and he was satisfied that the Doctor was soberish enough to return to bed without disturbing Rose. It felt a bit absurd, standing outside a closet door like it was the wardrobe that lead to Narnia, and bidding his best friend good night (good morning?)_

_“All I’m saying Doc, just think about trying to talk with her,” Jack coaxed._

_“Yes, I heard you the first two dozen times you suggested that. I get the point, now drop it. If I want to talk to Rose about it, I will. In my own time,” the Doctor replied, pursing his lips._

_“So never, in other words,” Jack said with a sarcastic laugh. “For having that enormous, scientific brain all in there, you sure are a moron sometimes when it comes to figuring out other people.”_

_“Get out of my house, you walking chlamydia culture,” the Doctor replied with no malice in his voice._

_“Love you too, Doc,” Jack said, blowing an air kiss at him as he went. The Doctor ducked to the side, as if avoiding said air kiss and made an obscene gesture at Jack in response. Pushing through the coats to the code box, he wished again for perhaps the millionth time that Jack Harkness were his half-brother, instead of the smug, smarmy, arrogant prick Harry Saxon. He wished a lot of things were different, though. If he could rebuild the world all over again, what would it even look like? He didn’t know, but he wondered to himself if that wasn’t in fact what he was already trying to do._

_Quietly, he crept back into bed with Rose (as even he was coming to think of her this way in private), draped his arms around her, and tried to will himself to find sleep, and to some relief from the restless stream of guilty, chattering voices that always seemed to inhabit his head at night. Eventually, his eyelids became too heavy to hold open, and he dropped off into an uneasy sleep, plagued with nightmares and dreams of the voices that haunted his head._


	13. Half-Truths and Half-Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Doctor can't help but answer honestly, Alba is able to get him to admit to a few things. Will it be worth it, though?

When Alba woke up that morning, she couldn’t move.

The Doctor was wrapped around her like a creeping vine-his chin was nestled in the crook of her neck, his right arm was thrown over her side, his hand curled in a fist and resting between her breasts. His leg was thrown on top of and over hers, and he was most definitely poking her in the back. It was an especially comfortable position for her, but it wasn’t awful, either. What made it terrible was the pressing urge to empty her bladder, which his leg putting weight on her wasn’t helping. She attempted to wriggle out from underneath him, but he stirred and pulled her closer to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he muttered sleepily in her ear.

“To the loo. Unless it’s a fantasy of yours to have a golden shower in the morning, you should probably let me go,” she warned.

“Ah...not as such, no. The door between the two chairs up there,” he said, pointing somewhere that was vaguely in the direction of the ensuite.

“Yeah, process of elimination...only other door in here,” she said, getting off the bed.

For some reason, this struck him as incredibly funny. He began to titter, which sounded a little like someone imitating a Frenchman. “So you used...process of elimination...to figure out where you go...for elimination?”

She just stared at him. “Are you thick?”

This only seemed to set him off further, as he erupted into peals of laughter. Evidently, the full effects of the ‘special’ cake hadn’t worn off on him yet. That, or he’d completely lost it. “Oh, you have no idea. No idea how thick. I’m Mr. Thick Thickity Thickface from Thicktown, Thickannia. And so was my dad! He screwed me! Isn’t that just wizard?”

 _Oh my God...he’s actually, definitely lost it…_ she thought to herself with dismay. And she was locked in with him in his secret boudoir of doom. Trying to seem casual about it, she went and picked up her dress from the floor.

“I was thinking I might just wash up a bit. Shouldn’t be too long. Think I’ve got some...stuff dried on parts of me,” she said, the half-lie tripping off her tongue easily.

“Oh, I should think so. We were at it pretty hard last night,” he said, nodding sagely. “You want me to come shower with you? And by shower, I mean eventually shower after we fuck first.”

“Ah…?” she sputtered, caught like a deer in the headlights. She didn’t want to make him suspicious, but she needed at least a few minutes alone with the water running to try and call or text Jack an SOS. “You know, that sounds lovely, but I just need a few minutes to use the loo and stuff. Gimme five?”

“Oh yeah, sure. That sounds good. I’m feeling kind of lazy, honestly, it might take me that long to peel myself out of bed anyway.”

“Right. See you in a few!” she chirped with mock cheerfulness, ducking into the ensuite. She thought about locking it, but realized it would probably be pointless, what with his sonic door-opening man wand or whatever it was he’d used to open the lock last night. Instead, she went right to the big marble double-sink and turned the first set of taps on full blast. The loo was beyond the sinks and behind a marble divider wall, so she pushed the lid down and planted herself there. She flipped the mobile open and hit the SEND button, hoping desperately that Jack would answer on the first try.

“And the universe must be trying to keep me from sleep for some reason….” came a muttered response that she was sure she hadn’t been intended to hear. Or maybe he just didn’t care. “Rose? Hello, sorry, is everything alright over there?”

“No, everything is certainly not alright over here!” she hissed through the phone. “The Doctor is off his rocker! He’s giggling about how his father screwed him, and how he’s going to come in here in five minutes and try to screw me too! Although the terminology he used was quite a bit dirtier than that. It’s weird...it’s almost like he’s saying exactly what’s on his mind.”

“Oooooohhhh,” Jack drawled in understanding on the other end of the phone. “Rose, what did you make for dinner last night?”

“Jack...he’s going to be in here in a few minutes! How is the fact that we had beef stew for dinner last night relevant to the conversation...oh, that’s weird,” she said. “I didn’t mean to answer you, but it just sort of came out of me.”

“Rose...did you get any herbs out of the Doctor’s garden for the stew? Perhaps maybe one that looked and smelled like sage, but was more a purpley-lavender sort of color?”

“Yeah, I just thought it was a local variety of sage or something. It smelled and tasted nearly identical. Why?” she asked, dread settling into her stomach. “What was it if it wasn’t sage?”

“Oh, it’s still a variety of sage,” Jack chuckled. “But it’s...a very special hybrid variety that’s crossed with a plant in the same family, and those plants are traditionally used to make truth serums. It was bred for use in espionage, so that you could put it on an enemy’s food and get them to talk without arousing suspicion.”

“What? How is it inconspicuous to go sprinkling purple sage all over someone’s food at the table? And what kind of crazy person even has the time to crossbreed some crazy hybrid like that?” she asked.

“Um, it wasn’t meant to be used at the table. Ideally, you’d get someone in the kitchen in on it and have them put it in the food before it would arrive at the table. Purple sage was typically used as a fragrant garnish on certain types of beef and lamb dishes, so it wasn’t all that uncommon to see it sprinkled on top of things. That was another reason why it was brilliant, actually. The hybrid sage had a delayed effect-it wouldn’t kick in usually until hours after it had been ingested, and the effect was somewhat subtle in most cases. And it was your future husband, the chemist _and_ botanist that crossbred it especially for use in espionage for that reason. They still use it today, he sells privately to a few old contacts of his. That’s why he grows it still. He has both kinds in his garden though, and being him he wouldn’t have labeled them to differentiate the two because he knows exactly where and what everything is. I guess he wasn’t really thinking about Rose-proofing his flat when he started this whole venture...”

“Well...that makes complete sense,” she replied without a hint of sarcasm in her voice. In that context, it did make complete sense. Kind of. “I don’t know about the subtle part though, there was definitely nothing subtle about himself, his erection, and the way he told me he was going to fuck me in here. What the hell kind of job did he have that he was designing crazy things like that anyway?”

“Well, why don’t you ask him yourself? But do it quickly, because the effects of the hybrid purple sage only last for about twelve hours, give or take a few hours either way depending on how much you used. Keep in mind though, he’s still going to remember anything you ask him, so whatever you do, phrase your questions carefully! But now would be a good time to ask him anything that’s absolutely burning you, because once he realizes what’s happened, he’ll probably never let you in there unsupervised again. You wouldn’t have known any better, but that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be going in the greenhouse alone. Oh my God...Rose...you have no idea what you’ve done,” Jack said, and he sounded more gleeful than concerned.

“What have I done then, Jack?” she asked with trepidation.

“You gave yourself a free pass almost. The truth sage isn’t always one-hundred percent, but it’s almost impossible to directly lie while under the influence of it. So go ahead...think about what you want to ask him. Just be careful...and choose wisely. And Rose...I wouldn’t expect it will take him long to figure out what-”

She could hear the Doctor rattling the door to the ensuite then.

“Jack, I gotta go,” she whispered, shutting the phone and sliding it out of view, behind the decorative concealment basket with the plunger and toilet brush in it. She flushed the toilet, and got up hastily.

“And here you said you were feeling lazy. You got here a lot quicker than I would have anticipated,” she said, trying to hide how nervous she suddenly felt. 

If what Jack had said on the phone was true, then she had her own reasons to be careful. The Doctor had bred the herb, had to be familiar enough with it to realize the culinary misadventure that had taken place. He probably realized what had happened, but he wouldn’t suspect that she had reason to know what was going on. He would probably be more on his guard, but he might also try to turn it to his advantage, asking her questions instead. She was afraid of what might happen if he asked her how she liked it here, or how she felt about him. She was afraid of what she might say in response if he did ask her those things. She had to stall him, give the herb time to wear off. She didn’t think it could be too much longer now.

“Hmm, well, I had thoughts of your naked body to motivate me,” he said cheekily, moving to meet her in front of the marble sinks.

“I know, it seems like whenever we’re together, you can’t get enough of my naked body. When we have sex, do you think about that other woman? The one you said I remind you of,” she blurted out.

She didn’t even know how to describe the expression on the Doctor’s face. Gobsmacked didn’t fit, because he didn’t seem surprised by the question. He just seemed unable to form a response. “Well….as it stands...the way that things are...sometimes you know how the mind wanders at times, even when you aren’t trying to let it and...maybe some of the time, yeah.”

“Whoever she was, she must have fucked you up something fierce if you’re thinking about her still when you’re with other women. Really bad divorce?” she asked, deliberately obscuring the questions she really wanted to ask with more innocuous ones likely to lead to the answers she wanted.

“I’m not divorced,” the Doctor said, and Alba realized she had to be more careful and more specific in the way she phrased her questions. He was still technically telling her the truth, although she thought that a lie by omission was still a lie of sorts. “But enough with the questions, I can think of other things I’d rather you were doing with your mouth right now.”

“Not divorced? So I guess this is your first marriage, then. Mine too,” Alba said, holding her breath as she waited to see how he’d respond.

“Ah….it’s not the first time I’ve been married,” he muttered lowly, looking at the floor. “But that was a long time ago, and it doesn’t matter right now.”

Before she could try to distract him with further questions, he was wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips against her own, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She felt panicked at the thought that she might not get to ask him any more questions, that he was deliberately trying to get her preoccupied so that she couldn’t ask him anything else. Still, she had gotten him to admit that he had been married before, and even if they didn’t discuss it right now, she at least had the in she needed for a conversation later. Whether he would willingly answer her questions later was another matter entirely, but she could at least hope. She felt the urgency though to keep pressing him for answers, even if it did infuriate him. If he couldn’t help but tell her the truth, it was worth the consequences, she thought. So long as he didn’t realize what she was doing.

“Are you using sex as a means to avoid having meaningful conversations with me? Because I feel like that’s all we ever do,” she said, pulling away from him.

“What?” he said, looking at her aghast. “No! Well...maybe a little bit. But mostly I like having sex with you because I find you sexy and attractive. Definitely mostly that. Maybe...maybe I should let you have your shower in peace.”

He ducked out the ensuite door, and she knew that her chance was lost. She had no doubts that if he wanted to flee to avoid her questions, he could and would. She was just amazed that she had managed to outfox him several times, to keep the questions focused on him. She certainly had ammunition to start a couple interesting conversations later on, if he would even engage her far enough that she could try. Her stomach tightened, as it occurred to her that he might just push her away in response to having his secrets unintentionally revealed.

“I hope it was worth it,” she muttered to herself. And not wanting to let on that anything was wrong, she turned on the shower and went about her routine as if nothing strange at all had just happened there. Like she hadn’t just blown a perfectly good opportunity to gather more information. Maybe she hadn’t been subtle enough...

All the same, she was starting to feel a bit like she lived in an insane asylum. But if he was the mad Doctor, what exactly did that make her?


	14. Missing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba awakes with only vague recollections of what happened between her and the Doctor the night before, and Jack is no help for once.

_Again?_ Alba thought to herself when she awoke, staring at the ceiling of her own bedroom with a strange taste in her mouth. Her memories were hazy-she remembered the Doctor returning from New London, remembered dinner and dessert…

And then the rest was sort of just...missing. She had a vague impression that she might’ve gone to bed with him, but the details of that, if it had even happened, were fuzzy to her. It seemed likely, though. When she sat up, the blood rushed to her head and she felt dizzy. She wondered how long she had been out. Carefully swinging her feet to the side of the bed, she grabbed the bedpost for support before getting to her feet. She looked down, and saw that she was wearing a deep navy blue silk chemise. One she certainly didn’t remember putting on, either.

How much time was she missing exactly?

“Doctor? John?” she called out, reaching for her bedroom door. She opened it and slipped out into the hall. “Hello?”

“In the kitchen!” came Jack’s voice from the other end of the hall.

Even more disoriented than she had been before, she made her way to the kitchen to find Jack sitting at the island, drinking a mug of something hot. She inhaled deeply. Coffee. That seemed like a good idea at the moment. She poured herself some and splashed an unhealthy amount of cream and sugar into it.

“What are you doing here?” Alba asked Jack, taking a seat on the stool next to him.

“I wish I had the faintest fucking idea Rose, but I don’t, not really. The Doctor called me almost twenty-four hours ago and asked me to come over and keep an eye on you while he ran an errand. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going, or why, or for how long. When I protested, he told me your safety depended on me doing this for him, so I complied. But I haven’t been able to reach him, and I haven’t heard thing one since he left,” he said wearily, stirring his coffee. He was staring down into the black abyss of the beverage, refusing to look at her.

“Uh…” was all she could manage in response to that. A sick feeling was starting to develop in the pit of her stomach. Jack was supposed to be the optimistic one, the one who stayed positive.. If he was sounding despondent, how was _she_ supposed to feel?

“Yeah, I second that motion,” he said glumly, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You want an omelette or something?” she offered helpfully. When in doubt, cook, that was her policy. She offered more because she knew the repetitions of preparing ingredients would help soothe her nerves more than anything.

“Yeah, I suppose. I mean...you’ve tasted my cooking. Better you make the omelettes than me anyday,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulder. She didn’t wait for a second invitation before she started heating butter in a pan and gathering ingredients. She filled a large bowl with steaming hot tap water and gently placed the eggs into it.

“Where do you think he’s gone?” she asked, dicing easily through her tomato with the Doctor’s expensive chef’s knife, the same she had tucked under her pillow for safety from him at one point. Now, supposedly, he was out protecting her. But where? And from what or whom?

“I couldn’t tell you,” he said, although even without looking at him she thought he might be lying. There was something different in his tone of voice, maybe almost a little like...guilt? 

She chopped the heads off the tops of a handful of asparagus and dumped them into the butter with the tomato to saute. The vegetables made a satisfying hissing noise when they hit the hot pan, and she gave them a gentle poke with the spatula to distribute them evenly before turning back to fix her gaze on Jack. “Well, you at least must have some idea of who he might have it out with, yeah?”

“How much do you remember about the last time you were with him, Rosie?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“I asked you first,” she said, turning back to the stove so she could crumble some feta in with the vegetables. She gave the pan a good shake, carefully retrieved the eggs from their water bath, cracked them open into a small bowl and began to beat them gently with a fork. Jack was watching her intently. “What?”

“Nothing. No wonder I can never make an omelette right-there are not nearly as many steps involved when I make them. And I’m lucky if I can do it without overcooking the eggs,” he said, watching her scoop the sauteed vegetables onto a plate and pour the beaten eggs into the pan.

“Hmm well, I’d be happy to teach you how to make an omelette. You could make Alonso breakfast in bed. Bet he’d like that. But I believe before the culinary interruption we were talking about the Doctor and his maybe whereabouts?” she pressed gently.

“If I knew, I already would’ve gone to look for him. He was acting...well, I don’t know. Like himself, I suppose, but something was off. It’s hard to tell anymore when he’s just being quirky, and when he’s having a wild moodswing. He was all wound up about something, though,” Jack said. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything about last night, anything at all that might shed some light on all this?”

Alba arranged the vegetables in the middle of the omelette, and used her spatula to carefully fold the edges over themselves. She flipped. it onto a plate and passed it over to Jack. She didn’t feel hungry, and she also didn’t feel too much calmer. Jack was being deliberately obtuse, while still trying to elicit answers from her.  
“I remember dinner and dessert, and not much else. I think I might’ve gone to bed with him, but I honestly don’t remember anything else. When I woke up, I kind of felt like I’d been drugged. You wouldn’t happen to have any insight into that?”

“I don’t know, but this is...oh my God. The best omelette I’ve ever had,” he mumbled through a mouthful.

“Yeah, I know,” she said with a grin, before remembering that she was trying to be stern and gather information. “But still...I didn’t feel right when I woke up. Something happened, but I don’t know what. He really didn’t say anything to you?”

Jack conveniently became absorbed with cutting his omelette into bite-sized pieces

“Jack...I’m missing time. I don’t know how I got to my own bed, or into these clothes. I thought I went to bed with the Doctor, but now I’m not so sure. You wouldn’t know anything at all that might help shed some light on that?” she asked him sincerely, hoping that guilt she’d thought she’d heard earlier in his voice might persuade him to let her in on whatever secret he was holding.

No such luck, though.

“When I said he didn’t really tell me anything, I meant it,” he said, but he was staring down at his plate now, pushing an errant piece of tomato around with his fork.

“Why are you lying to me, Jack? I’m so confused. You could probably answer it all for me, and you won’t. Why?” she whispered, feeling defeated.

“Secrets keep us safe sometimes, Rosie,” he said, sounding like an echo. The somber silence of the moment was broken by the sound of a loud crash from another room in the house. Jack bolted to his feet immediately, and looked at Alba. “You stay here.”

“Like hell I will. I’m coming with you,” she insisted, getting to her feet.

“No!” he warned vehemently. Please...just stay here. Just in case,” he said.

“So you’re going to leave me alone? How is that any safer?” she asked incredulously.

“Fine. But stick by my side and don’t get out of my sight,” he warned, taking her by the elbow. At the threshold of the kitchen he peeked cautiously into the hallway, and seeing it clear he lead them out. They heard another loud clatter, and this time they were able to identify that it was coming from the forbidden office at the top of the stairs. The two of them exchanged an uneasy glance, and crept forward. They heard muted swearing, but the voice was unmistakable.

“Jack? Where are you?” the Doctor roared from behind the door.

“I’m right here in the hallway, Doc!” Jack answered back as they stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you alone?” came the hoarse response.

“No. Rose is with me,” Jack replied.

There was more muted swearing and some clattering before there was another semi-coherent response. “Lock her in her room. Now. And then meet me back here,” the Doctor rasped.

“But-,” Alba started to protest, but she didn’t get a chance because Jack was leading her back down the hallway to her own door. She tried to fight him, pushing back against him when he tried to guide her in the door. He finally just put her in a bear hug and carried her into the room, depositing her and backing out into the hall before she could reach the door. She grabbed the knob and pulled against it, but Jack was stronger and she heard the lock click into place.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he whispered from the other side of the door.

Sinking down onto her bed, she realized she was the most frightened she had been since she’d woken up in the slave exchange. She strained her ears, hoping to pick up a hint of anything, but there was nothing besides the ever present and maddening sound of her bedside table’s ticking clock.

* * * * *

“So let me make sure I’ve got this straight...you kidnapped her mother?” Jack asked, staring at the hooded woman lying prone on the floor.

“Yes. I mean no! No! I certainly _did not_ kidnap Andrea Prentice. It was all...kind of an accident…” he muttered.

“How, pray tell, do you _accidentally_ bring a woman through the Vortex with you?” Jack asked, his voice rising in disbelief. “And of all the places to bring her...here? What are you trying to pull, man? You still won’t tell me why Rose has no recollection of the night she spent with you, either. Doc... you know I love-like a brother, of course, you’re my best friend man and I’d do anything for you. But it’s really hard for me to work for you doing certain things if you aren’t going to be honest with me. Why did you bring Andrea Prentice here?”

“Someone tried to blow up Henrik’s. Well, I say try, but they succeeded most of the way. The building will have to be demolished and rebuilt, at any rate. Andrea Prentice works there. I promised Rose I’d keep her mother safe...so I did.”

“How’d you know that someone was going to blow up Henrik’s?’ Jack asked.

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling. “She wasn’t in her apartment when I went to check on her, so I went to walk to Henrik’s. And then there was this newspaper on the ground…”

Jack pursed his lips. “You know that’s very dangerously close to breaking your own rules. What if she was meant to die in that explosion? What if you changed the course of history by saving her?”

“So when I was kidnapping nineteen year old girls from the sex slave exchange that wasn’t a rule breaker sort of situation, but saving a woman from a bombing is? This wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve done with the vortex manipulator Jack, you know that. And besides...I made it. I’ll do what I like with it,” the Doctor replied, his voice gone dangerously soft. “Have you forgotten who works for whom?”

“No,” Jack replied sourly.

“I didn’t think so,” the Doctor replied, shifting his gaze back to the woman restrained on the floor. Thankfully, she was unconscious. When she awoke, she would have no memory of being rescued, only of the bombing. He’d seen to that. Absolutely no one needed to know about his involvement, and in fact, it was integral that no one did, save Jack.

“So what are you going to do with her?” Jack asked.

“Until I know who tried to bomb Henrik’s and why? Nothing,” the Doctor replied. “ Keep her restrained and sedated.”

“Well, she can’t stay here,” Jack said pointedly.

“Yeah, I know,” the Doctor replied, looking up at Jack. “Say...you and Alonso have a three-bedroom, don’t you?”

“Oh no. Absolutely not. I am not sheltering a woman you kidnapped _from a different time_. Maybe you have no problem lying to Rose’s face, but I hate doing it and on top of that I’m pretty sure she can tell when I’m lying. There’s no way I can hide her mom in my apartment and still look her in the face to take her to dress fittings or the ceremony coachings or anything else. Nope. No way.”

“Alright fine. So hide Andrea Prentice in your apartment, and that’ll be your job for the next few days until I figure out what to do. I’ll take Rose to her appointments,” the Doctor said, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Really? You’re going to take Rose to her dress fitting? And dance lesson? And ceremony tutoring? Or did you forget all the things she has to do before this wedding?” Jack asked.

“If I have to, yes. Or I’ll find someone else to do it for me. Incomprehensible as this may seem to you Jack...I do have other friends. Not many, but a few. And I also have money. Money talks. If you won’t help me, I can find someone who will.”

“You’re such a douche. Like I don’t bend over backwards for you at every opportunity. You’re really going to guilt me over not wanting to do this one little thing, and you won’t even tell me why?” Jacked asked in disbelief, tilting his eyebrows up for effect.

“First off, it’s not a little thing, not by any stretch of the imagination. Secondly...I’m going to ignore the fact that you compared me to a feminine hygiene product because I’m asking you to do me a favor, and I know that. I will tell you why. I don’t want to send Andrea Prentice back to her own time until I know she’ll be safe there,” the Doctor said.

“You don’t think it was a coincidence that she was at Henrik’s during the bombing, do you?” Jack asked.

“Maybe not,” the Doctor replied softly. “Either way, Andrea Prentice is my bargaining chip. If she dies, I have nothing to keep Rose here. And I’ll have broken a promise. So she has to be kept safe. Just for now, just until I can find a safe place to put her. And you’re just the man to do it for me.”

“And Rose? Why doesn’t she remember the other night, Doctor?”

“She was asking too many questions, questions about Romana. I know she didn’t realize she’d used the purple truth sage by mistake, but I couldn’t risk her knowing these things about me. I just slipped a little milk of amnesia into her tea, that’s all. Just enough to make her forget that morning.”

“Yeah? Well, I think you went a little heavy because she said she didn’t remember anything past dessert, not really,” Jack said, sounding incensed on Rose’s behalf.

“That’s a shame,” the Doctor said wistfully, and Jack heard true regret in his voice.

“So I guess I’ll have to keep her sedated, huh?” Jack sighed with resignation.

“Probably, unless you want to try dealing with the possibility of her waking up. She’s Rose’s mum, after all...she’s probably pretty scrappy.”

“What am I even getting myself into?”Jack muttered in response.


	15. A Far Away Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba suspects the Doctor is unraveling, and then he does something unfathomable.

There were only so many times you could tidy a bedroom that was beginning to feel like a prison. Alba had been pacing her room for an indeterminate amount of time, shuffling a book here or there, moving a candle from the window ledge to the bedside table, and otherwise twiddling her thumbs. She wasn’t bored, so much as anxious-her mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to reconstruct the events of the evening previous. Was she in some sort of trouble? It was hard telling if she might have done something to invoke the Doctor’s wrath when she couldn’t remember what it was exactly they’d been doing in the first place. None the less, being locked in her room by Jack had left her feeling unsettled. Something was amiss, more so than usual.

When her door finally swung open, it was a raggedy looking Doctor standing on the other side of it. His Oxford was filthy, rolled up at the sleeves and covered in what looked like soot or ash, and his trousers were covered in more of the same. His trainers, which had at one time been a pale cream, were a dingy shade of grey now, the laces untied and dangling like a child’s. The expression he wore on his dirty, bloodied face though was like a wounded animal, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He stumbled towards her and collapsed into her arms, sobbing quietly against the side of her neck. Bewildered by this turn of events, she bit her lip and patted him gently on the back as he crushed her against him.

“What happened?” she asked him, but he only hugged her tighter, his shoulders shaking. She stood still and let him hold her, unsure of what else to do at that point. He finally pulled back from her eventually, and swiped the back of his palm across his eyes.

“Rough day at the office,” he said, his voice cracking a little. Taking a look at him, it looked more like he’d spent the day blowing up the office than working behind a desk.

“I don’t understand,” she replied, confused.

“There was an accident in the lab, an explosion. Somebody must have mislabeled a bottle or something, because two chemicals that have no business being mixed were, and it injured fifteen scientists and killed two more,” he said wearily, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a seat next to him.

He looked at her then, fixed her with a gaze so intense it almost made her uncomfortable. When he finally broke the stare and looked away, she felt a bit relieved. “No...I’m sorry. I’m just as much a fool now as I was then. But I’ll try to fix it,” he said softly and enigmatically. She hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about, but she felt a chill go down her spine. “I’ll make it up to you Romana, I promise.”

“What did you just call me?” she asked, looking at him shocked. Had he started to come completely unhinged? She was certain he had just referred to her using his dead wife’s name.

“What do you mean? I called you by your name,” he said, sounding even more tired.

“My name isn’t Romana, Doctor. It’s Alba. Your Rose by any other name, remember? You just called me Romana a moment ago. ”

“Suppose I might have slipped. It’s been a long day. People died, and I guess I’m just seeing ghosts,” he said, getting to his feet. It didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate beyond that.

“I’m not a ghost, Doctor. I’m alive,” she said, catching his hand and pressing it against her cheek, in spite of the fear she felt spreading through her like ice.

“I know that. Of course you’re not a ghost, Rose. ‘Course you’re not,” he muttered softly, stroking her jaw with his thumb. Abruptly, he dropped his hand and turned towards the door. “You should pack a bag. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

“What? Pack a bag of what? None of this stuff belongs to me, I don’t have a suitcase here...where are we even going? And what happened to Jack?” she asked, the panic creeping into her voice despite her best efforts to conceal it.

“So many questions. Don’t worry about it, Romana. Just get together some things,” he repeated vaguely, leaving the room. 

She stared after him for a moment before springing into action, hunting every which way for the mobile Jack had given her. Despite turning the freshly tidied room upside down, she couldn’t find the phone anywhere, which lead her wondering if that was yet another piece of the missing time puzzle. When the Doctor came back to collect her, he threw her things unceremoniously into a black duffel bag and bound and blindfolded her. She wasn’t sure what to think, but her heart was fluttering madly. She knew the headphones were probably coming next.

“I can’t find my mobile,’ she blurted out. “You know, the one Jack gave me in case we needed to get in touch?”

“Jack won’t be available where we’re going anyway. He’s got other errands to do,” the Doctor replied, making sure that her bonds weren’t too tight.

“Oh,” she replied, not asking the question she really wanted to. What errands? And why would he be unavailable?

“You’re afraid,” the Doctor finally said, more statement than question.

“Yes I am,” she confirmed.

“So am I,” he replied, gently placing the headphones over her ears.

* * * * *

He really hated lying to Alonso.

“Yeah babe, there’s a leak in the neighbors kitchen, but they’re going to need to go through our ceiling to access it. They said it shouldn’t take much longer than the weekend, but you should probably just head to your brother’s from work. I’ll meet you there with some things,” Jack said into the mobile.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come home and help you pack?” came Alonso’s muffled response.

“Nah, it’d be totally out of your way to come here from work. Just head to your brother’s, and I’ll meet you there, once I’m sure everything is squared away at the home front. Shouldn’t take too long. Besides, it’ll be nice to spend a weekend away.”

“Suppose you’re right. I’ll see you at Quentin’s tonight then. Love you, Jack.”

“I love you too, dear,” Jack said, ending the call guiltily to stare at the ‘leak’ that was still currently unconscious and on his guest room floor. According to the Doctor, there was little to do with Andrea Prentice besides keep her sedated. He wasn’t a fan of this recent development, but he was damned if he could say no, either. Now this. He was going to have to use the vortex manipulator to go back and forth between here and his brother-in-law’s undetected, a feat which was easier said than done. 

And what if she woke up while he wasn’t here, anyway? He knew the Doctor would probably prefer he keep watch on her directly, but that was going to be next to impossible without alerting Alonso what was going on, and he wasn’t about to do that. Alonso was already uncomfortable with the close nature of Jack and the Doctor’s relationship, if he found out that Jack was helping orchestrate and conceal illegal activities on the Doctor’s behalf...well, he’d be properly furious.

Feeling guilty, he cuffed each of Andrea’s hands to the bedposts.

“I’ll be back to check on you soon,” he told the sleeping woman, hoping that he’d be able to carry out his charade without a hitch.

About five minutes after the bedroom door shut and she was sure she was alone, Andrea Prentice opened her eyes.

* * * * * 

Alba was sure she was dreaming when he took the blindfold off. The landscape was breathtaking, and like none she had ever seen before. They were about midway up a mountain, a valley of deep red grass the color of garnets unfurling beneath them. In the early dawn light, the fields below them shimmered like they were made of living flames. Alba squinted and shaded her eyes to look up, watching in disbelief as what looked like a second sun began to creep over the horizon. Unable to bear the intensity of the light, she dropped her gaze back to the valley below. On the side of the mountain the light of the second sun caught the silver leaves of the trees and made the whole forest shimmer and glow. She almost couldn’t bear to look at that, either.

‘Where are we?” she asked him.

“A little less than halfway up Mount Perdition, near the first home I ever called my own,” he said, staring out at the forest. The light didn’t seem to bother him any.

“Well, last I checked New Earth doesn’t have two suns. Where are we?” she asked.

“Gallifrey,” he said absentmindedly.

“Shut up. Really, where are we?” she pressed him. Gallifrey. Really. He might as well have said Atlantis or Narnia or the Seventh Floating Luxury Sphere of Solarus.

He turned to look at her. “Rose Tyler, we are on Gallifrey. Really.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She had heard of it, of course, but it was talked about as myth, the same way Atlantis or any of those other places were. She said the first thing that came to mind. “Are you human?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I’m human,” he said, sounding irritated. “Christ, I’d forgotten how ridiculous some of your planet’s earlier legends were. Gallifrey is real, no we aren’t a bunch of wizards. We’re just the natural progression of a society that championed science and education over religion and entertainment. My ancestors were disgusted by the vapid consumerism, the anti-intelluctualism of New Earth society, and they broke off. After much research, they selected this planet as an ideal place to settle. And as they say...the rest is history.”

“So that’s why you’re so clever,” she said, at least some of the pieces clicking into place.

“That’s why I’m so clever,” he affirmed wearily. “What exactly have you heard about Gallifrey, anyway?”

“That it’s just a story. When I was a kid my cousin told me that if you spent too much time in libraries, the pixies would come take you away to Gallifrey and make you read until you died of boredom.”

The Doctor chuckled at this but said nothing, making a motion of his hand to indicate she should continue her story.

“It always depended on who you asked what the story was. My gran was real religious, and she always talked about it disapprovingly, said it was a good thing it was a myth because God wouldn’t suffer a society of misfits and hellraisers who wanted to meddle with nature to live, let alone have dominion over their own planet. But then there were other people, conspiracy theorists who claimed it was real, and that it was supposed to be the most beautiful place in the universe, a utopia world with no religion or poverty because everyone there was a genius. I’d heard there were supposedly secret government expeditions to find Gallifrey, but no one really believed that besides maybe the conspiracy theorists.”

“Utopia, hmm. Don’t know that I’d go that far, but there is no religion or poverty here. Even so, it’s not perfect. People still find things to be unhappy about, they’re still greedy, lustful, full of pride. Still, it’s beautiful here, don’t you think?” he asked, spreading his arms to indicate the valley and mountains around them.

“Yes, it’s truly lovely. And quiet. So I can’t help but ask...why’d you bring me here, Doctor?”

“I’m not actually sure myself. I’m not sure why I told you where we were, either. For some reason lately, when it comes to you, I find myself breaking all these rules and blurring lines I’d drawn for myself. So here we are. I’m sure you’ve got a dozen more questions too, most of which I probably won’t answer. I’m not even sure yet if I’ll let you remember this moment. It’s so beautiful, though, it’d almost be criminal to take it away. Hmm. I’m really terrible at this.”

“Let me remember it? What the hell does that even mean?” she asked him, but he was beckoning her upwards. She still couldn’t shake the idea that human or not, he was still technically an alien, at least in the sense that they were from two completely different planets.

“My navigational skills haven’t been up to par lately. Or maybe the device needs tuning. No matter. The house is less than a quarter of a mile up the mountain. Walk with me,” he said, taking her hand and forcing her to keep up with his brisk pace. Together, they wove their way through the silvery trees and up the softly sloping side of the mountain. When they came to a clearing dotted with a few small trees, they stopped. The Doctor bent low to the ground, lifted a large flat stone that was sitting there, and aimed his sonic screwdriver at the metal panel concealed underneath. When the hatch popped open, it revealed only blackness beyond it.

“Nope. No way,” Alba said, shaking her head.

“It’s not so bad,” the Doctor said, flicking the sonic and illuminating the small torch at the end of it. He aimed it into the darkness to show Alba the ladder that went down to a small ledge less than a story below.

“I thought you said we were going to your house,” she said.

“We are,” he replied, setting down the ladder with the sonic gripped in his teeth. “Come on then Rose, step lively. There’s still a ways to go yet.”


	16. A Vast Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Alba descend further into the mountain, and further into madness.

Despite the short distance from the hatch they entered through and the platform below, it felt like forever to Alba in the darkness. Once she had gotten her footing on the ladder, the Doctor had instructed her to pull the hatch shut behind them. She’d been reluctant, but his voice had gotten that quiet, flat tone to it when she’d protested and she had dropped it almost immediately, sensing that now was not the time to press him about these things. The sonic did little to eliminate what seemed like a vast darkness, and her heart thudding in her chest sounded impossibly loud. It was really, really dark on either side of and above her-the sonic was only illuminating straight up and down, and had a fairly weak radius relative to how dark and cavernous the space was.

When something pulled at the hem of her negligee from below, she shrieked, the sound echoing shrilly around them.

“Are you alright?” he asked from below her, shining the sonic up at her.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, feeling foolish for screaming like a little girl. “My gown got caught on a rock. It...startled me.”

“Oh. Well, the ledge is just down there. If you fell from here, you’d probably even live. It’s not much further, if you can avoid being startled by the local wildlife,” he tittered wildly for a moment before stopping himself. “Sorry, was I being rude again?”

“Yes,” she replied immediately and crossly.

“Hmm. Maybe that’s why people are always _dying_ to get away from me?” he mused out loud, and Alba felt her blood chill. At the same time, she was flooded with relief when she felt her feet touch ground again. That had been the longest ladder she’d ever climbed, literally and figuratively.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she whispered, hoping he hadn’t heard the tremble in her voice.

“Nothing. I was being crude at my own expense. No harm will come of you here, I promise,” he said solemnly. “However, I will not promise to not look up your skirtwhen we’re climbing down ladders.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” she replied, equally solemn. As unstable as he seemed, perhaps it was best to just humor him. She didn’t want to find out what madness was capable of driving him to, especially not in the darkness. If he wanted to look at her knickers, that was his perogative.

The darkness opened up to reveal the cab of a large freight lift, lit by a single stark bulb. She didn’t wait for him to usher her onto the lift, she made her way to it, eager to leave the darkness behind her. The Doctor shut the doors behind them, and pressed the button to take them down. The further they descended, the more dubious Alba became as to their supposed destination. The Doctor was eerily quiet, evidently lost in his own thoughts, which left her feeling even more unsettled. Tentatively, she reached out for his hand. He turned his gaze on her, startled. He looked down at their clasped hands, then back up at her, as though confused. He didn’t make a move to remove his hand, though. He was peering at her intently though, as though he were searching her own expression for something. Another agonizingly long moment passed, and the lift finally ground to halt. The Doctor opened the doors, revealing yet another dark passageway, and Alba felt her stomach sink again. Would it never end?

“You don’t happen to live at the center of the planet, do you?” she asked in as conversational a tone as possible.

“Not the center of the planet, no. Just the mountain. Well...not really the center, not quite. You’ll see when we get there. It’s not much further now,” he said, leading her through the darkness to a nondescript metal door. He used the sonic to open this door too, and they stepped into what looked like some sort of pantry or dry storage room.

“Back entrance,” he said, making sure the door was locked behind them. “Well, service entrance, I suppose. It’s not the normal way I’d get in here, at any rate, but I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing us coming, so here we are. Welcome home.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked him.

“No, why?” 

“Mmm, maybe we could leave the pantry then? Just a thought.”

“Oh, right! Of course, yeah, let’s do that,” he said, winding his way around shelves stocked with dusty canned goods. “Sorry it’s a bit dusty with disuse. Normally I would’ve had someone come in and turn the house, but again...I didn’t really want anyone to know we’re here. Safer this way, really.”

 _Safer for who?_ Alba wondered to herself, but didn’t dare to say out loud. She also couldn’t help but wonder if even Jack knew where they were right now, and felt another stab of fear twisting at her gut at the thought that she might be trapped here with a psychopath and no one to possibly help her if things went pear-shaped.

They stepped into a room that was almost a complete opposite of the sleek restaurant kitchen in the Doctor’s penthouse flat. This room was just as large, but decorated in shades of cream and cornflower blue. A half-wall with a gap in the middle separated the kitchen and the dining room The most noticeable difference though was that this open and airy dining area’s north wall was made entirely of windows that looked down and out on a vast cerulean ocean below. Something about the sea had always been magnetic to Alba, and she felt herself drawn to the windows to get a better look. They were several stories above the beach, a wide strip of burnt orange sand so fine it almost gleamed metallic under the light of the twin suns. The contrast of the sand against the water was frankly stunning. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until the Doctor stepped directly behind her and it startled her into exhaling. She hated that she was so nervous and on edge around him right now, when before it had seemed like maybe they were actually starting to get on better.

“What a view. I can already tell this will be my favorite room, no doubt,” she said, attempting to sound lighthearted. 

“Yes, the view is beautiful. The beach below is private, so no worries of anyone seeing you up here. The windows are one-way tempered privacy glass anyway, so it just looks like cliff face to anyone seeing it from below.”

“So no chance anyone could sail by and see us here,” she said, trying not to let the desperation creep into her voice.

If he sensed her fear, he acted oblivious to it. “Nope. Total privacy, which was why I loved it. Well...it was total privacy once upon a time, til someone exploited a small security glitch that somehow got overlooked. Still, it’s since been fixed. And I haven’t used this house in years, so no one would think to come looking here for us here,” he said, taking her elbow and guiding her out of the dining room past a large natural stone fireplace. The windows continued down a hallway, the other half of which appeared to be carved from the wall of the mountain itself.

“Loo’s right there,”he said, gesturing to a door on his right. Full bath is off of the master bedroom and the nursery. That’s a linen cupboard there. Just up here’s the lounge.”

“Hold on...did you say nursery?” she asked, biting her lip. She was almost afraid to see how he’d react to that, but considering he’d brushed off calling her Romana earlier, maybe there’d be no reaction at all. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, gripping her hand tighter in his own as he did. “Did I? Freudian slip perhaps, I meant conservatory.”

“So another greenhouse then?” she asked.

“Ummm yeah, sure,” he said, waving a hand noncommittally. “To be honest though I think it’s locked, and I don’t know that I remember where the key is. Nothing’s been alive in that room for a long time anyhow,” he said, and his voice was so sad that she knew he had meant nursery after all. The room was locked, and would stay locked, she imagined. She didn’t have the heart to press the fact that he’d said it was a Freudian slip, just figured it was related to his own guilty feelings regarding his daughter, whom she wasn’t supposed to know about at all and certainly couldn’t let on knowledge of, either. She wasn’t going to dare suggest he use the sonic screwdriver and risk sending him into a blind rage or sobbing fit.

“Oh, okay,” she muttered numbly, looking away so that he wouldn’t see the tears of pity and fear prickling at the corners of her eyes.

“Anyway, the lounge is right up here, the library is just beyond it. It’s smaller than the library in my flat, but it’s comfortable. Our bedroom, the master bedroom, is just up here. Are you tired, Rose?” he asked.

She shouldn’t have been, she didn’t think, considering she had woken up right before he’d gotten home and Jack had sequestered her to her room. Still, for some reason she was, as though she’d come an incredibly long distance. She thought of the journey from the flat to the mountain, and frowned when she realized she had absolutely no concept of how they had gotten there, or how long it had taken. She remembered being in the flat, and him putting the blindfold on. And then the next thing she remembered was the stunning first view of Gallifrey when he’d removed her blindfold once more. As to what was in between? Well, that bit wasn’t even hazy. There was just...nothing.

“Yes, I’m a bit tired,” she said truthfully, not admittedly that she was also more than a bit terrified as well. There was no getting a read on the Doctor, and the events of the last day had her rattled significantly. She wanted to trust him, but didn’t know that it would be possible anymore. She was now almost certain that the reason she was missing time was because he had drugged her. She’d turned it over in her mind, and it made sense. He was a chemist, after all.

“Me too. Let’s have a bit of a lie down,” he said, aiming the sonic at the door and pushing it open. 

Stepping inside the bedroom, Alba was rewarded with yet another new and breathtaking view of Gallifrey. The whole of the wall opposite of the door was made of glass, and looked out on the other side of the mountain, which sloped steeply upwards, the highest peaks capped with snow. More of the silver-leaved trees dotted the side of the mountain, their branches waving softly in the light morning breeze. 

This magnificent mountain would be the view from the oversized king bed, which was angled to face the window wall on one side and a mammoth fireplace on the other. The fireplace, like the rest of the room, looked to be carved out of the wall of the mountain and was so massive it ran along almost the entire length of the east wall. The shape of the room itself indicated it might have been a natural cavern-the ceiling was high and uneven, as were the walls, although the surface of the exposed rock was worn down so there were no sharp angles.. The floor too seemed to be cut from the rock, although that had been worn completely flat, save for steps that lead from the antechamber up to the bed and fireplace. A thick brocade canopy flanked the bed, although it was pulled open to reveal the plush comforter and overabundance of pillows. The Doctor went to move some of these pillows to a chest that was out of the way and behind the massive four-poster.

Alba, again, was drawn to the window to better take in the incredible view. Eventually, the Doctor came behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. Softly, he whispered in her ear. 

“This room has the best view of the sunset. The kitchen has the best of the sunrise, but here you can watch the suns go down over the mountain and it’s just..it’s so lovely. I never got tired of that view. I’ve quite missed it, actually.”

“I don’t know how you could ever leave it,” she said softly, wanting to relax against him but still feeling afraid.

“Well...maybe one day I’ll tell you why I did,” he replied, his voice equally soft although not with the dangerous edge it’d had previously. She let him lead her to the bed, and after undressing down to just his pants, he crawled in after her. She felt him move closer to her before he wrapped his arm around her side to draw her in closer and spoon her against him.

 _Oh great, here we go with the hot and cold all over again…_ she thought to herself. He didn’t say anything though, and after a few minutes she thought maybe they might both just actually fall asleep when his voice pierced the silence again.

“You know, don’t you?” he asked, although the way he said it it sounded rather more like a statement.

“Know what?” she asked him, honestly not sure what he might mean. He clarified though, and the icy feeling in her guts intensified.

“You know about them. My family. That they died,” he said, his voice flat.

“What? You’ve told me almost nothing about yourself, I had no idea you had a family,” she insisted, remembering Jack’s warning of how furious the Doctor would be if he knew he’d told her this very personal information.

“No idea? Oh, I think you had some idea, Rose,” the Doctor replied, tightening his hold on her.


	17. We're in This Together Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor confronts Alba about her knowledge of his past, and the conversation takes an unexpected turn.

The Doctor didn’t give Alba a chance to protest his accusation. “You know how I know that you know? Well, we’ll say I deduced, because I don’t know for sure, but I’d frankly be surprised if i were wrong. It occurred to me though, how odd it was that you didn’t press much at all about me calling you Romana or saying nursery instead of conservatory. You ask questions about everything usually, it seems. I thought it odd that you didn’t ask more questions about either of those incidents, but then it occurred to me that you would have no reason to ask if you already knew the truth anyway. I’m not wrong, am I?” he asked, forcing her to turn onto her side so that they were looking at each other face to face.

“I had my suspicions,” she said, hoping the answer was just vague enough to placate him.

“Suspicions placed in your mind by one Jack Harkness?” he pressed. When he received only silence in response, he just sighed. “I might’ve suspected. His mouth is as big as his heart sometimes, I should’ve known better.”

“You aren’t angry?” she asked quietly.

“Not at you,” he said, and the tone of his voice left her slightly worried for Jack.

“Don’t be mad at him. It was right after you...it was after that first night. On the floor in the library. He told me because he said he thought it might make me understand you better. He said he didn’t want me to hate you, and I guess he thought if I knew about them that I’d be more inclined to be sympathetic towards you.”

“You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to know anything about me. That was the whole point of it, so I could let you go when the ‘contract’ was over with your memories in tact. If you know intimate details about my life, that makes it all a bit more difficult. And Jack has put me in the position of deciding how I’m going to handle it,” the Doctor said, clenching his hands tightly.

“Does it matter? As long as you were actually planning on returning me to where I came from, New Earth doesn’t believe in Gallifrey as anything other than a myth and a legend. What would be the point of me rattling on about it? No one would believe me, I’d just get thrown in Upper Bedlam. Doctor...I thought we had an agreement. You made it clear to me that if I cooperate, you’ll make sure me and my mum are cared for. I have an incentive to be quiet for that reason.”

“Not if I pay you and send you home. Once you have your money, you sort of lose incentive, do you not?”

“So then _don’t_ send me home,” she sighed. “As long as I know my mum is looked after...I’ll stay with you as long as I need to. I won’t fight it. The day I woke up in the slave exchange, I never expected to see my family again anyway. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I would ever live to see another sunrise or sunset. It would be enough for me to know that my mother was okay. You told me from the get go that I was here as long as it took to convince the right people that you and I were genuinely in love, so I expected to be here at least a year or two, maybe even more. I mean you and I, we could even get along...if you’d just let me try. You have to stop lying to me about everything, though. I’m supposed to be here to help you, so let me help you. I can’t do that if you won’t be honest with me. Remember how well we worked together that night when Rani and your brother were over? I can do that again. And again. And again. Whatever I have to, whatever you need me to do. Because you try to be kind to me. Because you let me live. Because you promised you’d keep my mother safe. Just tell me what it is you need from me, Doctor, and I’ll do it. I’d say no question asked, but I suppose we both know that isn’t true,” she said with a chuckle. When she looked over at him, she could tell he was trying not to smile.

“Suppose you have a point,” he said, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. He sprawled out across the bed, his hands tucked behind his head on the pillow. “Jack said something to a similar effect. He told me you might be a for-show wife, but I had paid the price for you, I might as well talk to you like a real wife.”

“Jack is wiser than I think you give him credit for, Doctor,” Alba replied, reaching out to softly smooth her fingers through his hair. He leaned into her touch, and she let her hand drop to caress his cheek. “Talk to me. Please. You’re going to try to help me, please let me at least try to help you.”

“It’s a long story. Hell, some of it is still classified. I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he said, pulling his right hand through his hair. His left was pinned underneath her at the moment, and she was still holding her hand pressed against his cheek.

“The beginning is usually a good place to start,” she suggested.

He laughed. “That’s the problem. The beginning as in when I was born? My childhood? Or the beginning of when things started to go awry. Come to think of it though, I suppose there isn’t too much difference between those two things.”

“What do _you_ feel like talking about? I can sense that you’re anxious, if there’s something you want to get off your chest you can talk to me about it. I don’t mind listening.”

He sighed heavily, and brushed her hand away from his cheek so he could pull at his face. She’d noticed that seemed to be one of his many nervous habits. That, and running his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t deserve you. You’ve got such a kind heart...I’m so sorry I’ve done this to you. Dragged you into the middle of all this. I’ve no idea when it’ll even end, no idea if what I’m doing right now is even worth it. I’m just...I’m so, so sorry, Rose. If I could take it back, I would. I’m sorry this ever happened to you,” he said, his voice cracking. He covered his face with his hands, either in anguish or shame, she couldn’t tell. Probably a little of both column A and B.

“Well, whether you deserve me or not, here I am. And I’m listening,” she said earnestly.

The Doctor seemed to consider this, silently. For several minutes. Finally, he spoke again. 

“What do you know about time travel?”

“Another myth, like Gallifrey,” she said. “They talk about it being possible one day, but not for thousands of years.”

“Yeah...about that…”

* * * * *

In the bedroom, Andrea was growing hopeless. Her captor had left her hours ago, and she was no closer to escaping now than she had been then. It was no use-having both hands cuffed above her head, she had literally no way to escape, and the cuffs were just tight enough that she couldn’t try to wiggle free of them. She was stuck there, indefinitely. She thought there might have been an old Earth horror novel about such a situation, but she didn’t remember how the main character had ended up escaping, if at all.

She tried again to pull one of the bobby pins from her hair, and almost couldn’t believe it when she felt her fingers close around it and pull it free. Still, without the ability to maneuver the pin into a key shape, having it did her very little good. She clutched it in her fingers, and made several vain attempts to insert it into the lock. Eventually, she gave up, resigned to her fate, whatever it was. She hoped that if her captor had intended to kill her he would’ve done it already, but she didn’t know. Everything was a blur in her memory. One moment she had been folding clothes, and the next there had been a thunderous crash and roar that had shook the whole building. There had been a searing white light, and then nothing. Nothing, and then she had woken up here. She could only assume a similar fate as that that had befallen her daughter was about to befall her as well.

A few minutes later she heard someone returning to the apartment, and assumed it was her captor. When the footsteps tracked to just outside the bedroom door, her suspicion was confirmed. She closed her eyes, and pretended to be unconscious again. She heard the footsteps enter the bedroom and approach the bed, and the familiar voice again.

“So you’re Rose’s mom. Wonder what you’re like,” he mused out loud. 

_Rose? Who the hell is Rose?_ she wondered to herself.

“Well, she misses you,” he said softly. “Shame you two can’t see each other. Not yet, anyway. Maybe someday, eventually.”

It was only when Andrea, who loved flowers, felt the needle sliding into the crook of her arm that she realized what the significance of the name Rose could possibly be. But it was too late. She felt the waves of the black ocean tugging at her once more, and as the waters enveloped her she had time to think one last thought:

_Alba!_

* * * * *

Alba was sure the shock she felt was written all over her face. On top of not just being told, but shown physical proof that Gallifrey existed, she had just spent the past twenty minutes having the invention of time travel explained to her in layman’s terms. She was still having difficulty wrapping her brain around it.

“So you...you invented a device that can travel through time and space...and it’s only a little bit bigger than a wristwatch?” she asked, still unsure she believed what she was hearing.

“Yes. So far, only a handful of people know about it. But...if I lose financial control of my family’s business and the patents to my inventions, it is almost guaranteed that they will try to pursue a commercial license for it. I don’t even want to think of what the consequences would be if anyone with the money could get a hold of one,” he said, letting his head flop dramatically against his pillow.

“Yeah,” Alba said sarcastically, unable to help herself. “Then anyone at all could go to New Earth and fetch themselves a slave girl. Wouldn’t that be terrible?”

He looked at her sharply. “It _would_ be terrible. Which is why I have to stop it from happening. Do you disagree?”

“No. But how can you decry people using a time travel device for their own ends when that’s exactly what you’ve been doing? You said yourself the reason you chose to take a girl from the slave exchange was so it wouldn’t be traceable. But it’s illegal, and you used a time travel device to conceal that activity. Why is it okay for you to do, but not for anyone else?” she asked. She knew what she was doing was probably playing with fire, but his guilty apology earlier had her thinking she could probably get away with pushing the envelope some as far as her questions went. He was right-she did question everything. 

“That’s exactly what Harry said,” the Doctor muttered darkly. “And he and Rani are two of the board members pushing hardest for the commercial development of the vortex manipulator. But Rose...you’ve met him. And her. They’re not right. If they got their hands on it, there’s no telling what they would do. Right now, there are only three in existence. I have one, Jack has one, and the prototype is kept locked in a lab. If I lose financial control of the business, they get the prototype, the patent, everything they need. And they get access to everything else I’ve been working on.”

“And to retain financial control of the company, you have to be married? Why?” she asked, not sure what one seemed to have to do with the other.

The Doctor sighed. “My father built his business from the ground up, from scratch. He clawed his way out of poverty by selling his first invention, and started his company. Eventually, he started losing his faculties, and he made a will. That heartless, stubborn man loved that company more than anything. Certainly more than myself or my mother-it was extremely important to him that it remain in the family, as his legacy. Never mind his son, the genius overachiever, that wasn’t enough for him. My fortune is secure, but only if I secure the legacy. Which requires I be married before my thirtieth birthday.”

“So what’s the problem? We’re getting married, fortune secured., yeah?”

“If only it were that simple. My father wrote that will before he knew he had another bastard son besides me. Harry didn’t come out of the woodwork until after my father had already started to lose it a little, and then to top things off, Harry married Rani, who was one of the board members. Because Harry is technically my father’s blood too, he has a claim to the company as well. So him and Rani are trying to fight me on it.”

“Yeah, but if Harry’s a bastard, doesn’t that invalidate his claim? I’d think your case would be stronger, given you were your father’s legitimate son,” she replied.

“Yeah well, there are other factors at play here,” he muttered, staring over her and out the window at the mountain.

“Factors such as…?” she prompted.

“My sanity. They want to fight my control of the company on the grounds that I’m not mentally sound, which I suppose they have a point. I may be mad...but it’s never affected my ability to make sound business decisions. Besides that...there are other things they’re trying to use against me as well.”

“Of which you are apparently reluctant to tell me. Why?” she asked, reaching out to take his hand, hoping that the physical contact might help to make him feel more comfortable and secure with what he was struggling to express to her.

“Because I’ve already bollocksed up your life enough as it is, I already decided I’m not going to do anything more on that front. I can’t.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of who has bollocksed my life up? Which, and I can’t believe I’m saying this..but I don’t know that I’d count you in the mix of bollocksing up my life. The way I came into your life is undeniably fucked up, for sure, but at the end of it we have a business arrangement that was intended to be mutually beneficial. It will benefit me to know that I’ll be able to pay my rent and take care of my mum without having to worry about which bill will have to go unpaid or how we’re going to put food on the table. So why don’t you just tell me what it is that’s really bothering you?” she said, knowing she was perhaps being a bit manipulative, but not caring if it got her the answers she wanted and needed.

For a long time he laid there quietly, evidently mulling whatever it was over in his own mind. She squeezed his hand gently to remind him she was there, and he cleared his throat. “Rani and Harry have found a surrogate. They’re trying to have a child. If they succeed, they’ll have one very important thing I don’t…”

“An heir,” Alba finished for him, then shuddered. “Eww. I can’t imagine those two as parents. They don’t even strike me as the sort of people who like children.”

“They don’t. They’re both just power-hungry psychos who would do anything to get what they want. Including bringing an innocent child into the world, one who will likely go unloved because they’re just using it as a means to an ends. They’ll probably pawn it off on a nanny, send it to a boarding school, and laugh while they squat on top of their piles of plundered money,” he said glumly.

“That’s terrible,” she whispered, imagining the poor child of that horrid union. She had no doubt that the Doctor’s prediction of neglect would probably prove truthful if Rani and Harry were successful with their surrogate.

And then, she realized what it meant. “Oh. _Oh_. If you had an heir, they’d have a much harder time trying to lay claim to your father’s company.”

“Yes. But...I wasn’t prepared to ask you to do that. A child would be a permanent tie for you to Gallifrey. That wasn’t part of our original agreement. I honestly never even thought about it, because I know Harry and Rani hate children. I never imagined they’d be capable of sinking this low. That’s how desperate they are to get the company.”

Alba thought about the implications of this. Without a baby, the marriage seemed almost pointless. But he’d just said that he wasn’t prepared to ask her to have a baby, too. So what did that mean in terms of their arrangement? “So...if we don’t have a baby, what do you do? Find a surrogate? Try to adopt?”

“No. I can’t adopt...for a couple of different reasons. Has to do with the sort of work I used to be in, but they won’t adopt to someone like me because of my high-risk past. I suppose a surrogate would be an option, but people would raise questions. We’re both young and fertile. Harry and Rani are older. People just think that they got the urge a little late in life. Plus Rani is known for her vanity, so no one would be surprised that she didn’t want to carry her child in her own body, risk ruining her figure or some other vain claptrap. It’d be different for you and me. People would talk.”

“I see,” she said, swallowing. “So are we still getting married?”

“I suppose not,” he said softly. “I’ll still pay you, of course. For the trouble. It’s all for naught now. I’ll let you go home...soon. I just...I can’t bear to be alone right now. I just want to keep you with me a while longer. I’m sorry, Rose,” he said softly, shoulders shaking.

“But what about the company? The vortex manipulator? What will you do?” she asked, suddenly feeling concerned. The Doctor had a point. What would people as immoral as Rani and Harry do with the power of time travel? If they had no problem having a child just to gain control of something they wanted, who knew what else they were capable of? What histories they might try to go back and change for their own gain? She curled her fists thinking about it.

“Suppose I’ll start from scratch. Find another girl, hopefully before Harry and Rani are able to have a baby and take my father’s company out from underneath me.”

He didn’t sound especially optimistic. She gathered a lot of planning had gone into procuring herself the first time around, let alone having to go through the process all over again.

“No,” she said softly.

“What?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows to look at her.

“No, you can’t send me away now. We have to stop them. I can’t go away knowing that the integrity of time and history might be at stake and I didn’t do anything to stop it. We have to at least try.”

“So what do we do then?” he asked her.

“Whatever we have to,” she replied, looking back up at him. “We’re in this together now.”


	18. No One's Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor learns that he isn't the only one with darkness in his past, and makes a confrontation of his own.

“So what do we do then?” he asked her.

“Whatever we have to,” she replied, looking back up at him. “We’re in this together now.”

He rolled her into his embrace, holding her tightly against his chest. “I really don’t deserve you. You’re a better person than me, that’s for sure.”

“Do you think you’re a bad person, Doctor?” she asked, her voice muffled against his skin.

“I’ve done bad things, Rose. Terrible things, things I’m not proud of. Most of those things are in the past, but the echoes haunt me even now. I can’t ever take them back, no matter how much I might want to, no matter how much I try.”

She pulled back, both to catch a breath and glimpse at him. “Everyone does bad things from time to time. No one’s perfect. That doesn’t make us bad people.”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done, Rose?” he asked

“How d’you mean?” she asked, not sure she understood the question.

“Maybe a time where you made a choice, and the outcome of that decision had harmful effects on those around you. Maybe you stole, you lied, caused an accident, shot a man in Reno just to watch him die, whatever. But the worst thing you’ve ever done...what is it?”

The question caught her completely off guard. “I...well, I don’t properly know. It’s not the sort of thing I’ve ever given much thought to.”

He gave a mirthless little chuckle. “Nevermind. You had to think about it...that tells me more than if you had given me an actual answer.”

“What does that even mean? Like what does it tell you?” she asked, frowning.

“Well, either you’re the type of person who does terrible things without feeling any remorse, or you’re the type of person who has never done anything they had to feel truly guilty about. I doubt you’re the former, so I’ll have to assume you’re the latter,” he said, shrugging.

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “I’m hardly innocent, Doctor, if that’s what you’re getting at. Just because the stupid things I’ve done don’t plague me every night doesn’t mean I haven’t done bad things or things I’ve regretted. I have. Like not getting my A-Level’s? I used to regret that a lot, especially after I’d spent all afternoon folding sweaters, just to come back twenty minutes later and find the display had been ransacked by a bunch of snotty little tweens. Many an existential crises were had in the second floor loo on days like that.”

He snorted derisively. “So is not getting your A-Level’s the worst thing you’ve done then?”

“No...that’s not the worst thing, although I suppose it woyld depend on who you asked. My mum thought it was the worst thing.. The reason why I didn’t get them, though...that’s the worst, I guess, if you were going to force me to pinpoint it,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” she replied, a little curtly.

“The reason you didn’t get your A-Level’s. What is it?” he asked.

“I...I would really rather not talk about this, actually. I don’t see the point in it. It’s not a pissing contest. I don’t care what the worst thing you’ve ever done was,” she said, which was half true. She didn’t want to talk about it because she had no desire to revisit a past she had tried to bury. That, and she was almost afraid that it might segue into him talking about the worst things he’d ever done, a prospect that truly terrified her given his hot and cold temperament.

“That’s sweet that you don’t care what I’ve done. But I do. I want to know the worst thing you’ve done, Rose. Please. Humor a crazy man,” he said, the subtle change in his tone not going unnoticed. She recognized that tone. It was the same tone he had used when he’d told her she should do what he told her to if she wanted her mother to remain safe. Humor him?

 _Exactly what is it I’ve been doing, if not just that?_ she wondered silently to herself, but she sensed this was not going to be a topic he would be willing to drop, for whatever reason. She cleared her throat, and thought about what she wanted to say. Nothing, really, but of course that wasn’t going to be acceptable. Already, she felt her chest growing tight just thinking about it, and she hadn’t even uttered a word (or a name, really) yet.

“I suppose we all have our ghosts,” she said, finally. “Sometimes, they don’t even have to be dead to haunt you, either. When I was sixteen...me and my mum just flat out didn’t get along. We were constantly arguing-she didn’t want me working, just wanted me focusing on school. She was convinced that was the only way I’d end up getting ahead in life, was if I went off to uni. She didn’t. She had me instead, and my dad made a runner and she raised me on her own. I feel worse about it now...because she was right. And I’m sorry. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get the chance to tell her that,” Alba said, her breath hitching.

The Doctor was silent, his face impassive. He squeezed her hand gently, but said nothing, his silence indicating she should continue.

She dabbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands and sniffled before adjusting herself on her pillow. “His name was Jimmy Stone. Fancied himself a rock star, him and his mates had a band. It was so stupid, and they were terrible, but I was sixteen and looking for a way out and of course that all seemed so romantic at the time. He offered an out, and I took it. I moved in with him, dropped out of school. Didn’t tell my mum where I was going or anything, because I didn’t care. I just resented her overprotectiveness so much...I was all she had though, and she clung to me, and I just couldn’t deal with it then. It was hard enough, growing up without a dad, wearing second-hand clothes and eating ramen noodles whenever mum would lose one of her part-time seasonal jobs. I couldn’t see it then, that she was just trying to protecting me. I felt like she was trying to control me, and I hated it, so I rebelled. Typical stupid teenager, and it worked out about as well as you’d think,” she said with a shuddery sigh.

“Oh, believe me. We all do foolish things at that age,” he said softly, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “Tell me how this story ends.”

“I got pregnant. It was bound to happen, of course. All they did was drink, so that was all I did, too. We weren’t ever careful, we didn’t use birth control. When Jimmy found out about the baby...he seemed happy. At first. He assured me he’d take care of us, that everything would be fine. So I didn’t think anything of it. I went to bed that night feeling completely relieved, because Jimmy was going to take care of us all.

One night a few weeks later, I woke up in the worst pain I’d ever known, and he was just pissed drunk and _beating_ me with his guitar. Hitting my back, my stomach. After he broke the neck of the guitar, he started pummeling me with his bare hands. I just remember shouting at him to please stop, please, and I finally asked him what he was doing. And I’ll never forget what he said...he just looked at me, completely calm, and he said _’I’m taking care of it, Alba’_ and then he kept beating me. I eventually blacked out, and woke up in hospital. That was how my mum finally found me. I miscarried...obviously. And Jimmy disappeared. Once he sobered up, I guess he realized what he’d done technically counted as murder and assault and he hit the road. That’s why I didn’t get my A-Level’s...and that why it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“You let your mum down and you ran away and made her worry. That’s the worst thing you think you’ve done?” he asked gently. There was no derision in his tone this time, though he did seem a bit nonplussed.

“Well there’s that, and that’s pretty bad I suppose. But...the worst thing...the worst thing...is the baby. That baby’s blood is on me, because I was stupid, childish, and irresponsible, and an innocent life died as a direct result of my poor decisions. And as a mother...I failed to protect my child. And my own mum...if I’d just listened, hadn’t been so stupid and stubborn, none of it would’ve happened in the first place!” she cried, the tears cutting tracks down her cheeks, her body wracked with sobs. Wordlessly, the Doctor pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest, stroking her hair. She sensed that he wanted to say something to her, but was unsure of the words to use. When he finally did speak, his response was not quite what she was expecting.

“This is why I had to ask, Rose. I had to know...if you were as broken as I am. Maybe there’s more than one person seeking redemption here. Anyway...here I am still talking, when we came in here because you said you were tired. So why don’t you rest. I’m going to get up and go call Jack, let him know we got here okay. He’ll worry otherwise, I’m sure,” the Doctor said, getting up from the bed.

“Will you be gone long?” Alba asked, hating the desperate, pleading tone she heard in her voice when she did. As absurd as it was, she suddenly found that she didn’t want to be left alone with that mountain and her (guilty) thoughts.

“I don’t have to be,” he said softly, brushing the tears from her cheeks with the ball of his thumb. “Get some rest, I’ll be back shortly.”

Alba turned onto her back and stared up at the pattern on the brocade canopy. From here it was not discernible, though that didn’t stop her from squinting at it to try and see anyway. Eventually, she just closed her eyes and tried not to think about her mum, the baby that never was, or that stupid slag Jimmy Stone. Instead, she thought of the Doctor and the vow she had made to him, and wondered what her mum would say if she were here right now. Probably nothing good. She chewed her bottom lip and tried to think of ways she could help the Doctor keep the company out of Harry and Rani’s hands that didn’t involve them having a baby together.

So he couldn’t adopt on Gallifrey. Was there nothing to stop him from going to Earth and finding a baby there? He probably wouldn’t want to adopt through official channels for the same reason he had taken her from the slave exchange rather than placing an advert looking for a wife-no paper, no trail, no records. Still...they could always take a child from an orphanage, maybe. A part of her though objected to kidnapping another innocent person and dragging them into what was an undeniably dark scheme, even if the intentions behind it were somewhat honorable.

Maybe they could pay a surrogate on New Earth? As the saying went _money talks_ , she had to think they’d be able to find someone willing to do it. With a time travel device at their disposal, it would be entirely possible to fake a pregnancy on Gallifrey and then bring home the baby from New Earth when the time was right. It seemed like a viable solution, but deep down she knew it wasn’t the easiest one, or the most natural. She swallowed hard, thinking about what it would mean for her if they couldn’t come up with something, and soon.

* * * * *

Jack was just locking the spare bedroom behind him when he heard the familiar sound of a vortex manipulator from the kitchen. “Doc?” he called out, feeling a little silly. That was the only person it could be, after all. He got no response though, which left him feeling slightly unnerved. He made his way down the hall towards the kitchen, but before he could reach the door the Doctor came around the corner, wearing nothing but his pants and a look of fury. He hit Jack like a sack of bricks and before he knew what had hit him, the two men were scuffling on the floor. 

“You stupid son of a bitch, you told her about them!” the Doctor shouted, wrapping his hands around Jack’s throat. “What the fuck?!”

“Doc...please…” he wheezed, trying to pry free of the other man’s grip, but failing.

“That wasn’t yours to tell, you bastard! That was mine, do you understand? You robbed me of the right to make the decision of whether or not I was going to tell her!”

Jack scrabbled weakly at the Doctor, unable to form coherent thought. “Jamie..kiilling...me..” he managed to moan.

The Doctor got off of him with a disgusted grunt, but not before popping him quickly in the mouth. “Don’t call me Jamie. We’re not kids anymore. What would Alonso say if he could see your hard-on now, Harkness?”

“F..f..fuck you,” Jack spat, pulling himself into a sitting position. “No one..no one..told you...to rape her...you...fuckface. I...was just trying...to smooth things over for you. Since yourself...is such an...oblivious twat!”

“Are you done?” the Doctor asked, looking slightly amused.

“Maybe,” Jack said, wiping the blood from his mouth. “Are you quite done trying to kill me while I have the woman you kidnapped from New Earth in my guestroom?”

“If I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead without even knowing it, Jack. I was merely making a point there. My secrets, my stories, my past..those are mine to share with Rose, not yours. But I didn’t just come here to rough you up, Harkness. The game has changed. She knows the truth about the company, about what Harry and Rani are trying to do. And she told me that she’d stay however long, that I couldn’t send her away now because we have to fight them and do whatever we have to to stop them from taking over the company and commercializing the vortex manipulator. Jack...I can’t bollocks this up!”

Jack’s jaw dropped. “No shit. She really said that?”

The Doctor nodded. “I asked her what we should do, to stop them y’know, and she said to me _’Whatever we have to. We’re in this together now’_. Can you believe that?”

“Not really, no,” Jack said, and the Doctor gave him a warning look. “But if you say she said it, I believe you. So she wants to help you, she’s in it for the long haul. Now what?”

“Now I need you to help make her fall in love with me,” the Doctor replied, sounding slightly sheepish.

“I’m sorry...did you just say you want my help making a girl fall in love with you? Because I’m thinking now might be a good time for me to take up alchemy,” Jack chuckled.

“Shut up, I’m being serious here, Jack. I...I can’t lose her. I know she said she’d stay, but if she loves me than it wouldn’t be forcing her. If she loves me, she may want to stay after it’s all done anyway.. And you know me, I haven’t truly courted a woman in years. I guess not ever, actually...”

“Wow man...you’ve got it for her bad,” Jack said, sounding a little touched.

“Will you help me or not?” the Doctor pressed.

“Of course I’m going to help you...but we still have to figure out what to do with Andrea,” Jack replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the guestroom.

“Actually, I’ve got some ideas about that, too, but I’ll need to go home to my lab to get a few things,” the Doctor said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Where’s Rose?” Jack thought to ask. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since he’d locked her in her bedroom the day previous.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so I won’t bother.”

* * * * *

“Ms. Prentice, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” a familiar voice asked.

Andrea’s eyes flew open, and she saw a concerned and handsome face with piercing blue eyes peering down on her. She didn’t recognize him though, which made the familiarity of his voice a little disconcerting. She couldn’t place where she knew his voice from, and she was certain she’d remember having met a guy so fit.

“Better now that you’re here, dear,” she muttered, and the man blushed. “Who’re you, anyway?”

“I’m your acclimization agent, Andrea. You were badly hurt in an explosion that happened some time ago. Do you remember?” he asked her.

“No, not really,” she replied. “How long have I been out?”

“About six months,” the man replied, and Andrea felt herself rocked. 

_Six months? Six bleedin’ months?_ she thought to herself.

“Yes, a lot happened while you were out. You were evicted from the estate for not qualifying-which, before you get upset-I have all your things at your new place. The accident you were in...you got quite a bit of money out of it. So you won’t have to worry about your bills or rent for a while. That was why you didn’t qualify, by the way-you got the settlement, so it disqualified you to live in the council estates. But I’ve taken care of all that. Later today, after you’ve eaten and bathed and dressed, I’ll take you to your new home. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Andrea replied weakly. “How much money are we talking, exactly?”

When the man told her, she just about fainted again.


	19. She Tastes of Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation of the Doctor and Alba's emotional outpouring leads them to seek comfort in each other.

True to his word, the Doctor was only gone for a short time before he returned to the bedroom. Alba had almost drifted off to sleep when she felt his weight on the bed beside her. She opened her eyes to look up at him, peering down at her with something that looked like concern. His expressions were so stoic sometimes, it was hard telling.

“I brought you a glass of water, and a cool washcloth,” he said, helping her to sit back up against the pillows.

“Thanks,” she whispered weakly, accepting the washcloth first to dab at her tear-stained cheeks, which still felt a little hot. The cool dampness of the expensive swath of fabric was a welcome relief. When she’s finished, she folded the cloth and awkwardly set it on a small outcropping of rock near the bed and within her reach. The Doctor waited patiently until she was settled again before handing her the glass of water and climbing back in on the other side of the bed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, watching her drink like someone might watch a deer drinking at the edge of a stream.

“Not really, no,” she said, taking a large swallow. She set the empty glass down on the smooth rock that served as a bedside table. “I haven’t talked about all that or thought about it in a long time. It hurts...remembering after all this time.”

“All those years ago that happened...and you still think it’s your fault?” he asked her, propping himself up on his elbow.

“It’s not anyone else’s. No one forced me to get involved with Jimmy. I knew my mother didn’t like him, and that was half the reason I did. Petty and stupid, y’know? It was my choice to drop out of school, my choice to move out, my choice to drink with him and his mates, my choice not to insist he use condoms. All those choices were what lead me to where I ended up. Jimmy beat me pretty badly. I couldn’t have gone back to school after that right away even if I had wanted to. And then eventually, I was just so embarrassed and ashamed that I didn’t want to ever go back at all.”

“I think you’re being awfully hard on yourself, considering all this happened when you were only sixteen. You sound like Simone de Beauvoir, not a nineteen year old New Londoner. Earlier, you said yourself you had your reasons for wanting to leave-even if they seem stupid to you now, they felt real to you at the time. And they were real. I can only imagine what it was like growing up without a dad-my own was never around, but I did see him from time to time. I mean, obviously it was hard on your mother...but it would’ve been hard on you, too. You deserve to forgive yourself at least a little bit. At least you learned something from the experience-that’s obvious. What happened to you didn’t happen for no reason at all,” he said, rubbing gentle circles across her shoulders with his fingers.

“Suppose you’re right...I did grow from it emotionally. Maybe that’s the silver lining,” she sniffed. ‘It made me grow up, become less selfish, which I needed then I guess. So what terribly stupid thing did you do at sixteen?”

She felt his hand on her shoulder go still for a moment. “Ah well...I guess my story isn’t entirely different from yours, I suppose. Only I never fancied myself a rock star. I got my best friend pregnant at sixteen, just being careless because it felt good at the time. Our families are both the old-fashioned sort-obsessed with preserving the integrity of the family lines. Romana’s family was of a similar social standing to my own, so when it happened our parents decided that a marriage was the only appropriate outcome. So we got married, because they didn’t give us a choice otherwise. But familiarity breeds contempt, I guess...after they forced us to marry, and the baby was born, things were never the same between us,” he said softly.

“Did you two just not get along anymore?” she asked.

He got a far-off look on his face before he started speaking again. “Maybe it was something like that. It’s funny...this was our bedroom. I can’t remember the last time I actually slept in it, though. Towards the end, it was always the sofa. Or in the chair in the baby’s room. But never in bed with her though, never next to Romana. The last time I remember being in here with her, we fought about the fact that I was always at work and she was always at home with the baby. She wanted me home more...and I pulled away. Because I was overwhelmed, and I resented being pinned down by her and the baby. It wasn’t her fault, of course...but I wasn’t always especially nice to her. Maybe a bit like what you went through with your mum. She certainly didn’t deserve half the shit I gave her, and she was absolutely right to want me home more. Who knows...if I had been, perhaps what happened to them…,” he said, his voice cracking.

“What did happen to them?” she pressed gently, letting him pillow his head on her chest. She had gotten this much out of his, surely she could get the rest?

“I can’t. Not today. Maybe another time...but not today. The memories...it’s too much,” he whispered.

“Then maybe it’s time both of us tried to make some new memories. Good memories. Because I can’t bear this, the melancholy,” she said, pulling her fingers softly through his hair and making it stand up, mimicking the nervous gestures he made with his own hands. He didn’t say anything to this, just tilted his head up to look at her. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t even thirty when he looked at her like that-his deep brown eyes seemed fathomless, their depths hiding an ageless darkness she wasn’t sure anyone quite grasped the limits of, least of all herself.

“Perhaps you’ve a point,” he said, shifting to bring himself closer to her. He tangled his fingers in her golden hair and pulled her against him for a kiss, taking the time to taste the inside of her mouth with his tongue. 

_Rather a bit like tears…_ he thought to himself, gently nibbling on her lower lip. He felt her arms wrap around him and he let his lips slip from her mouth to the curved hollow between her shoulder and her jaw. When he nipped at the delicate skin there, she moaned softly and shivered and he felt the beginning stirrings of his own growing arousal. 

Gathering the hem of her nightgown in one hand, he pulled the material to the side and slid his other hand up across the bare skin of her torso to cup her breast. He watched her intensely, her eyes closed, lips just slightly parted. The hand cupping her breast moved, the fingers tracing hard circles around her areola until the sensitive skin had pulled itself into a taut little peak. He pinched her nipple gently, and was rewarded by her thrusting her chest up against his palm with a sigh. He let go of her nightgown and let his fingers move to graze the top of her knickers. Without prompting from him, she raised her hips just enough that he was able to tug the scrap of lacey fabric over her waist, which she toed to the side after he’d slipped them down her legs.

“Are you absolutely certain this is what you want, girl?” he asked her roughly, pausing his ministrations. He was asking her permission to go on, but there was something else deeper implicit in the question. From this point on, anything could happen. He needed to know she was ready for the possibility.

She opened her eyes to look at him, seeming to consider this proposition. “No. But right now I’m certain it’s what we need,” she said, tilting her head up to kiss him. He took this as her consent and began to tug at the straps of her nightgown, slipping them off her shoulders so she could lift her arms up and through them. He pulled the molded cups of the garment away from her breasts and began to shimmy the fabric down her body until she was free of it. When he’d done that, he tossed the offending garment to the side of the bed and turned back to where he was kneeling above her to gaze down possessively on her now naked body. Quickly, he removed his own pants and tossed those on the top of the pile.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured quietly, running his hands up the smooth, creamy expanse of her thighs. His fingers just skated through her curls before moving softly across her belly to rest on her hips. She watched him do all this with a slightly hooded gaze. His hands moved from her hips to trace their way up to her breasts. He paused, cupping one in each hand and thumbing her nipples for just a moment before moving to trace the curve of her lips with his fingers.

“Who are you seeing now?” she implored him softly, his fingers still resting on her lips.

“My second chance,” he answered her. “My lovely Rose.” He punctuated this statement with a kiss to the corner of her lips, but she tilted her head fully into it and grabbed the back of his head, pressing him firmly against her and deepening their kiss. He hummed in pleasure before parting her lips with his questing tongue, and this time it was his turn to moan when he felt her suck his lower lip into her mouth and begin to nibble on it. 

The arrangement of their entwined bodies left her hips pressed and grinding against his own, and he felt himself growing painfully hard against her inner thigh, nudging closer to her folds the more aroused he became. Their tender kisses turned quickly to passionate snogging, each of them clinging tightly to the other like the only still port in a seething storm. When she raised her hips off the bed and wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back, it forced him up and into her and they both gasped with the relief of two people coming home.

Sheathed in her slick heat, he began to thrust urgently against her, wrapping his arms around her delicate frame and holding her against his chest the way he had when they’d done this before, though she wouldn’t be able to remember that he thought sadly to himself. In return, she clutched tightly back at him, her nails digging into the scant flesh of his shoulders for purchase. They remained locked at the lips as they moved against each other, desperate for the intimate physical contact. What they communicated now was all in their fevered, pleading touches and hot kisses. There were no words, only moans and sighs of gratification and soft, keening cries of pleasure as the pace between them grew steadily more frenetic.

“Oh Rose,” he moaned into the hollow of her neck, his feverish pitch and pace letting her know he was close.

“Doctor,” she purred in response, feeling the familiar pooling of heat in her belly that signaled the approach of her own climax. When the white hot light finally ripped through her, she clenched tight around him and cried out, causing the Doctor to illicit his own inelegant exaltation as he emptied himself into her. They both collapsed back against the bed in a panting, sweaty pile, spent with the effort of their delirious lovemaking. She settled naturally into the gap between his chest and his arm, and he folded her into his embrace, rolling onto his side to spoon her. He tugged the comforter up around them, and settled down against the bed with her, sighing contentedly against her shoulder.

“Maybe now you’ll finally rest,” she mumbled from her cocooned space under the comforter.

“Maybe,” he agreed softly, stroking his fingers through her hair.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, Rose?” he replied, brushing her hair back over her shoulders and running his fingers lightly over the skin at the nape of her neck.

“Sometimes you scare me, you know...but I don’t think you’re a bad person. Maybe just a little lost. But then so am I...so maybe we’re not so poor a match after all.”

She couldn’t see the expression on his face, for which he was relieved. “That’s kind of you to say,” he said, not bothering to debate her on the point that she didn’t think he was a bad person. If she stayed long enough, he was sure she’d come to find otherwise on her own. For now, he thought he would savor this moment, before she inevitably realized what kind of a monster he really was.


	20. Life's a Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an uncharacteristically sunny mood, the Doctor invites Alba for a picnic on the beach. She accepts, and discovers a few interesting things along the way.

When Alba awoke, she was alone in bed, surrounded by darkness. Disoriented, it took her a moment to remember where exactly she was. She poked her head out through the canopy to look up at the mountain.

“Gallifrey,” she said out loud, liking the way the strange word sounded when it rolled off her tongue. Never in a million years would she have imagined that such a place could actually exist, yet here she was. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. 

The whole of the universe was at their fingertips, if the Doctor’s vortex manipulator were really capable of all the things he said it was. At the very least though, it were definitely capable of traveling through space. The Doctor had brought her from New Earth to here, and here was unmistakably a different planet, Gallifrey if he were telling her the truth. She hadn’t thought to ask him what year it was here, if their years were even the same as they were on New Earth. With them having an extra sun on Gallifrey, she’d have to imagine not. Still, she was no astrophysicist, so she had no idea. These were questions for the Doctor, if she could even successfully pin him down to get an answer. Reluctant was a bit of an understatement when it came to talking about things relating to himself, directly or indirectly. He’d been more forthcoming in the last day than he’d been the entire time she’d been with him, however long that was. Between the missing time and not actually knowing if time progressed the same here, she had no idea how long she’d actually been gone from home.

She grabbed her rumpled night gown off the floor and slipped it over her head before making her way down the stone steps to the antechamber that lead back out to the hallway. Finding the bedroom door unlocked, she slipped out of the room. She ran her hand across the smooth rock surface of the wall as she walked, finding it warm to the touch. Though it didn’t feel too hot by all the windows, she had to imagine the rock absorbed at least some of the heat from the twin suns. Maybe. She could be entirely wrong again.

She popped into the room he’d earlier indicated as the loo, not surprised to find that that the bathroom counter and sink, as well as the giant jacuzzi bathtub had been carved out of the mountain rock. The tub was so large, it actually looked more like a small pool than anything. A gouge cut into the rock above the bath had a stained glass window set into it, casting purple-blue and green light onto the room below. In the opposite corner, an elaborate looking shower head and dials protruded directly out of the face of the rock. She almost had to chuckle. He’d called this a loo, when it looked more like a Turkish bath or something. Bemused, she relieved herself before washing her face at the giant rock sink. Observing herself in the mirror, she was surprised to find that she actually looked well-rested, and even felt that way, too.. She frowned a little, thinking of the things they had discussed the day previous. Alba was almost surprised she hadn’t spent the night tossing and turning, running from the spectre of Jimmy Stone. It was almost as if…

Well, as if she felt safe with the Doctor, which she honestly had no real reason to feel that way. She almost never slept through the night without waking up though, but she had this time. Of course, the fantastic shag probably hadn’t hurt. She bit her lip, suppressing a smile at the thought.

Slipping back into the hallway, she passed the grand fireplace and rounded the corner to find the Doctor in the kitchen, bent down into a cabinet putting something away. Taking an appreciative glance at his bum, she couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing jeans. Jeans! She’d never seen him in anything so casual, unless she were counting his pants, which she didn’t. She had started to think the only thing he owned were suits, which he looked quite nice in actually, in a university professor sort of way.. Not wanting to startle him, she waited until he’d ducked out from under the cabinet to gently clear her throat, alerting him of her presence.

“Oh! Well good morning, gorgeous,” he said, giving her an uncharacteristically sunny smile. Alba was caught off guard. He just seemed so...cheery. It was unlike him, or at least the him she had thought she was getting to know. “I just went out and picked up some groceries, since I had nothing in. Luckily most of the canned goods in the pantry don’t expire any time soon, but I picked up some milk and eggs and butter, meat, fresh fruit, stuff like that. Figured it might come in handy.”

“Maybe just a bit,” she said, pulling a stool up to the island to watch him. “D’you want me to make us some breakfast?”

“Actually, I thought maybe we could go for a picnic on the beach. Perhaps go swimming, if the water is warm enough. I suspect it will be though. I mean, that is of course...if you want to?” he stuttered, turning to look at her.

“What, like a date?” she teased, her tongue finding its way through her teeth as she grinned back at him. She almost couldn’t help it-his good mood was infectious.

“Well, I suppose if you want to call if that. Just thought it might be nice to eat and enjoy each other’s company while we look over the water. What d’you say, Rose? Sound good?” he asked, suddenly sounding a bit shy.

“Sounds better than good. Sounds brilliant...except, I don’t have any clothes here. No bathing suit or anything like that.”

“Oh, well that’s alright,” he said, an amused twinkle in his eye. “Clothes are overrated anyway. I thought we could go naked. Did I leave that part out?”

“Um yeah, you neglected to mention that small detail,” she said, feeling her mouth go dry. it wasn’t the nudity that had her nervous, but the rapid shift and increase in intimacy between them. It had literally happened overnight, and she still wasn’t sure what to make of all of it all. Still, she thought it odd that he’d chosen to leave her after she’d poured her heart out to him like that. When he’d come back, he had done his best at trying to comforting her. She gathered it wasn’t something he was used to doing, but he had been kind and urged her to forgive herself. That was a whole lot more than many people had done for her. Even her own mother seemed to feel she had earned that guilt, thought it served to teach a lesson and stand as a reminder of the mistakes she had made. She knew her mother didn’t mean to be cruel, but it felt that way sometimes. It was easier to forgive Andrea that now though, in the wake of everything else that had happened.

“Oh well. Naked picnic. Naked lunch. That was the name of a book actually, an old Earth author named William S. Burroughs. Controversial title, in spite of the fact that he wasn’t referring to actual nudity, more naked in the sense of being stark in its imagery...I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” he paused, looking at her for confirmation.

“You are, but I don’t mind,” she replied. “Your rambles tend to be fascinating. You know so many random things, things most people wouldn’t know about old Earth. Are they big on history on Gallifrey?”

“I suppose. As they say, those who don’t know their history are doomed to repeat it. We have no religion, we just have history,” he said, and she thought that was a strange thing to say, but it was still strange for her to consider a world that was wholly absent of religion. 

Alba wasn’t particularly religious herself and she didn’t see humanity as a whole moving away from the comfort of their faith anytime soon. She couldn’t blame them, though. A part of her wished she did believe-in Santori, or something else. Anything to give her a modicum of hope that something was looking out for her, for them all. As it was, her life had taught her that you can only ever truly rely on yourself-everyone else will screw you at some point or another.

Praying was like wishing, as far as she was concerned, and as her mum used to say, _’wish in one hand and shit in the other, see which fills up first’_. The turn of phrase had been Andrea Prentice’s way of basically saying that if you really wanted something, you should go get it yourself and not wait around for someone to give it to you. That being said, it was even harder now to entertain any ideas that she was being looked after, not when she had ended up where she had, not when there were so many who were even worse off than she was. 

How far into the future had the Gallifreyans gone that they’d left even the comfort of faith behind them? And how different was their society because of it? Were all of them as morally wishy-washy as the Doctor? Because Harry and Rani hadn’t seemed like especially scrupulous characters themselves. And then there was Jack, who she admittedly still had questions about. He’d never been anything but kind to her, it was hard to imagine the how or why that would’ve let to him getting involved in something as dark as human slave trading, let alone being best friends with someone like the Doctor. Having few beliefs herself, she didn’t think that religion was the thing that really made a person good or bad. Most of the time, she thought she was pretty good, actually. At least she tried to be. At the end of the day, she thought that was really what mattered-being kind for kindness sake. Life was hard enough without inflicting unnecessary cruelty on your fellow man, whatever you believed happened after life ended.

“So..no religion. I guess no Christmas, either. I can’t even imagine. Do you lot even celebrate holidays here?” she asked.

“Oh, we don’t have religion but we still have tradition. We have festivals and celebrations still, they just aren’t religious in nature. Perhaps...perhaps maybe I could take you to one, sometime soon. We’ll have to see. Anyway...the beach! Yes, that’s right. Why don’t you go fetch some towels and a blanket out of the linen cupboard, and I’ll pack us a picnic basket?” he said, more statement than request.

“Right, sure,” she said, turning on her heel to go back the direction she had just come. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised by him anymore, but still, she was. Every day was a new adventure where he was concerned. The cupboard stuck a little before opening-it was obvious it hadn’t been used for a while. Why did he keep linens in a house that he didn’t use any more, anyway? She supposed it didn’t matter. The towels that she grabbed smelled clean, even if they had been in storage for a while. She grabbed what looked like a knit throw down from the top shelf, pulling it and several other blankets down on top of her.

“Of course,” she sighed, rolling her eyes as the soft avalanche tumbled over her. She bent down to retrieve the pile of blankets, refolding each of them as she went. Lifting up a pink-and-yellow afghan, she was startled when a book fell from the creases and thumped against her foot. Curiously, she bent down to pick up the volume and noted with wide eyes the inscription on the cover: _Our Daughter’s Baby Book_. 

She glanced back in the direction of the kitchen, but she could still hear him shuffling around in there. The coast was clear. Holding the volume between her hands, it naturally fell open to a spot a few pages in. The document pasted there was a little larger than the rest of the book, which explained why it fell open to that spot. Turning the book on it’s side, she realized that it was a birth certificate. The names had been inked in by hand and she squinted to read what they said, but she could hear the Doctor’s footsteps coming down the hall. Damnit! There was no time. She hurriedly jammed the book back onto the shelf it had fallen from, and rushed to heave the pile of blankets back up in front of it.

“Perfect timing!” the Doctor beamed at her as she stood up, the pile of towels clutched in her arms. Her heart thudding, she realized she’d thrown the knit blanket she’d grabbed down for them back up on the shelf as well. “Oh, could you not reach the top shelf? Here, let me grab us a blanket.”

Alba felt her stomach drop as she watched him reach for the shelf with the blankets, sure that the book would come tumbling down. She wasn’t exactly eager to see how he’d react to being confronted with a memento of his dead daughter, but she also wanted a chance to go back and peek at the book later, if possible. If he found it now she knew she’d never see it again. She watched him reach up to grab the blanket, sucking in her breath in anticipation of the discovery. But it never came. He grabbed a dark blue cotton blanket and shut the cupboard door without incident. She let her breath go in a soft rush of air, and he glanced at her.

“You feeling alright?” he asked her, placing the folded blanket on top of the pile of towels in her arms.

“Yeah...I’m fine. Guess the idea of naked swimming with you has me a little bit breathless, that’s all,” she replied hastily. She swore the Doctor looked pleased when she said this.

“Right, well let’s not waste any time then. Follow me, _mon petit rose_ ,” he said, picking the picnic basket up off the floor where he had placed it and gesturing with his free hand. At the other end of the hall, right before the bedroom, the Doctor lifted a small panel and punched a code into the interface underneath. One of the glass window panels in the hallway slid up into the rock noiselessly, granting them access to a small ledge and a rocky path leading down to the beach.

“Watch your footing,” he advised, stepping out onto the ledge and beckoning her to follow. She eyed the steep path over top the pile of linens with trepidation, but the Doctor was smiling like he knew exactly what she was thinking. “It’s steep, but it’s fine if you take your time. Besides I’ll go first, so if you fall, it’ll be on top of me.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” she said sarcastically, stepping out onto the ledge. He flipped the sonic out of his pocket and aimed it at the window, shutting it from the outside. It slid back down out of the rock face, and when it had closed completely you couldn’t even tell where it had been. The illusion was a good one, that was for sure. Even right up close the windows looked like living rock. She started picking her way carefully down the path after the Doctor, who was only a step or two ahead of her at most, and also apparently part mountain goat. He picked his way easily down the uneven path, avoiding the rocks and branches as though he walked this path everyday. True to his word, when she stumbled and lost her footing he caught her by the elbow before she could fall to the rocky ground.

“Sorry,” she mumbled with embarrassment, bending down to grab the blanket she dropped.

“No, it’s alright. I warned you the path is a bit steep, it’s easy to get tripped up on. Not too much further though,” he said, gesturing downwards. Alba could see they only had maybe ten more steps at the most to go, but he still held onto her elbow the remainder of the way, guiding her carefully to where the sandy surface of the beach began. Taking in the scene around them with interest, it occurred to her this was the first time she’d been outside since she’d been captured, not counting the hovercar ride her and Jack had taken to the wedding dress fitting or the walk up to the house from the mountain. 

The light breeze off the dark turquoise ocean carried the scent of salt and the heady aroma of a nearby cluster of purple-white flowers that looked not-quite like orchids. The fine orange sand underneath her feet was warm, and she drew her toes through it, making little patterns as they stood there looking out over the water. In any other circumstance, she might’ve been inclined to call it paradise-it was tranquil enough to be, she thought. Somewhere in the near distance, a bird was singing, completing the image.

“It’s so beautiful, it’s almost unreal,” she said, her eyes following the horizon line in either direction.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing, but about you,” he said, turning to look at her with a smile. “Shall we?”

She blushed at the compliment, but managed to grin back at him. “I suppose we shall,” she said, letting him lead her closer to the surface of the water, where they spread the blanket and stacked the towels on top of the picnic basket to keep the contents cool. Their hands finally free again, he pulled her into a tight embrace and tilted her chin up, pressing a long, lingering kiss against her lips that left her shaking in the knees by the time it was over.

“I’ve been waiting to do that all morning,” he whispered, pausing for breath.

“Apparently, I’ve been waiting all morning for you to do that to me...,” she exhaled, a little embarrassed to be so flustered over a kiss. 

“Mmmm. I think we should probably eat breakfast now. Otherwise, I might devour you whole,” he murmured, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I might not mind that...,” she muttered under her breath, sinking down to the blanket. The Doctor shot her a curious look that made her wonder if he had overheard her, but she realized she didn’t care if he had.

“Mimosa?” he offered, handing her an empty champagne flute out of the basket. “I brought blood orange juice, it’s pretty fantastic if I say so myself.”

“Champagne?” she asked, holding her glass out so he could pour. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Sure. We’re celebrating the day Rose and the Doctor went to the beach,” he replied, splashing the juice into her glass. “Cheers.”


	21. Another Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the beach, the Doctor makes a surprise confession to Alba. Her reaction shocks both of them.

“So why did you really bring me here?” she asked him after breakfast was finished, taking another sip of mimosa. It was fizzier than she expected, but pleasantly so. Like everything else about this day so far, it was light and sweet.

Naturally, she couldn’t help but be a little uneasy.

He laughed. “I really brought you here just because I could. I haven’t been here in many years myself, and it’s a beautiful day. I suppose the sunshine put me in a good mood. I’ll be sure to carefully monitor that in the future,” he said wryly.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just...well, you know. This is all so...different. Y’know, from laying out ground rules and drunken shagging in the library and baking mary jane cakes and...yeah,” she faltered, suddenly having difficulty finding the words she needed. “I...I’ve really enjoyed this. Getting to know you. Getting closer to you. Thank you for bringing me here...I love it.”

She felt the flush creep across her chest and face again as she said this, realising how her proclamation must’ve sounded out loud to him. When she mustered the courage to lift her gaze to meet his, he was gazing at her with a fierce intensity and yet another inscrutable expression. 

“Doctor, what is it?” she asked him uneasily.

“I have a confession to make,” he said softly.

“Another one?” she couldn’t help but ask.

To his credit, he chuckled softly. “Yes well...this morning I woke up with a sort of resolve. I don’t sleep much...I just think. My mind, it races, it never stops moving, and I’m always thinking. A lot of those thoughts were about my past...how I cocked it up, mostly. But like you said...you can learn from those experiences, or not. And I decided something. About us...or about you, rather. And…” he stopped, his breath suddenly hitching in his chest. Whatever resolve he’d mentioned having, it looked like he was about to lose it now. His lips were trembling.

She thought he might be on the verge of crying, but she didn’t dare ask him for fear of harming his ego.

“Doctor...what is it?” she repeated her question, her uncertainty growing. “You can tell me.”

“Rose...Alba...I...I never…oh bollocks. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t want to say what I’m about to say, that’s why it’s so hard. I’m afraid of what you’ll do, that you might walk away once I say it, and I don’t honestly know if I could bear that,” he said bitterly.

She peered back at him curiously. “Now what’s this, you afraid of me? I told you last night...we’re in this together now. You don’t have to go at it alone, because I’m going to help you. So no worries about me walking away, because I won’t. So say what you need to say,” she said, unsure of herself even as the words left her lips. Where had all this sympathy and loyalty to a mad man come from? She was almost afraid to look inward and examine the answer there. Somewhere along the line, her own feelings about him had started to change. As hot and cold as he was, she couldn’t help but think that he was just broken, in need of someone with the patience to help him fix himself. One way or another, it looked like it was going to be her. Rather than fight against it, she would do what was her nature-try to help him. And who knew? Maybe along the way, he’d even help fix her.

He reached out and took her hand, twining his fingers through her own before he began speaking softly. “Never in a million years did I imagine things turning out this way. When I went to the slave exchange, I was desperate to find a woman I could mold into a passable wife, figuring I’d have to use money as a motivator. I didn’t want her to have to know the why or how or any of that. When I started the process, everything with Harry and Rani wasn’t as complicated.. I didn’t think it’d take more than a year to carry the whole thing off. And then things changed. Lots of things. For instance...I never anticipated I’d start falling for the girl.”

Alba nearly dropped her champagne glass. “Wait, what?” she stammered, sure she couldn’t have heard him right.

“Last night, you told me you’d do whatever you had to to help stop Harry and Rani from taking the company and commercially producing the vortex manipulator. And I told you then that I didn’t deserve you and you hushed me up. But the thing is...I don’t deserve you, I really don’t, and I know that, even if you don’t. And after I spent the rest of the night thinking about it, and about how I felt about you, I realised that I couldn’t do it to you. Force you into a sham marriage, into mothering or having a baby you’d have to leave behind, into throwing away years of your life on another planet, against your will...with someone you don’t love. I’m a thousand times worse than Jimmy Stone, maybe for different reasons, but still...you deserve better. So if you want to walk away from this all right now...I’ll make sure you get home to your mother, and that the two of you are taken care of regardless. I just want you to have a good life. I think you deserve that, even if you don’t believe it yourself. There’s a kindness in your heart...I don’t want to be the monster that takes that away from you,” he whispered, cupping her face in his hand.

A dozen different feelings welled up inside of her at the conclusion of his ‘confession’. Confession. Fuck, talk about an understatement. She felt like she’d been run over by a lorry full of lead weights!

“Why did you do all this then...bring me here to this place...if you were just going to set me free?” she asked him, at a loss for anything else to say. She still couldn’t believe that he was just letting her go. There was absolutely no way it was that simple, and not with saying he’d take care of her and her mum, either.

“To show you what it could be like if you decided to stay. On your own accord, of course. But I won’t force you to stay any longer, or be a part of this business regarding my family’s stupid legacy. Of course I want you to stay, however you can go home whenever you like. But if you decided to stay, Rose...I promise I would spend every day showing you how wonderful you are. I could show you the stars, take you to visit that romantic old Earth you longed to see. If you stayed with me, you’d never had to want for anything, and I wouldn’t let you.”

“My mum,” she answered almost immediately. “I’d want for my mum. She’s on another world. Even if I wanted to stay...how could I?” she asked him sadly.

“If your mum weren’t a part of the equation...what would you say then?” he asked her.

She felt her stomach go cold. ‘What are you implying?”

He sighed, pulling at his face. “Allow me to...rephrase. Because I’m not implying anything, I promise. I said that rather poorly. Take your mum out of the equation-pretend, I mean. If she weren’t a factor, if Harry and Rani weren’t a concern, if this was only about us...would you want to stay here? With me? Cards on the table, girl.”

She realised then that he was trying to ask her how she felt about him without using certain words. This conversation had rapidly gone a direction she hadn’t anticipated, and she realized that she wasn’t really ready to confront her own growing feelings for him. She was also blushing so hard they could probably see it from space, she thought, but that was besides the point. If she stayed silent for too long, she’d risk offending him probably beyond repair. She was paralysed by fear: of her own feelings, of this strange mad man, of saying the wrong thing.

“I know you want an answer Doctor, and I wish I could give you one. But you haven’t let me in enough to know yet if I could spend my forever with you. You drugged me-don’t give me that look, it wasn’t like it could’ve been anyone else besides you. You made me doubt myself...and I can’t trust you,” she said, and she saw his shoulders slump when she said this. Hastily, she forced him to look at her, tilting her face so that they were nearly touching. “I didn’t tell you we were in it together for nothing, though. If you keep opening up to me like you have been, if you can earn my trust...well, I’m yours,” she said softly, nuzzling against him. She hadn’t realized the words were true until she’d spoken them out loud, but the realisation left her feeling slightly uncomfortable. He was a psychopath...but she still had some intense, unnameable feelings for him. Loving him meant potentially losing control to someone who was hardly in control himself. Given her past history, it hardly seemed like a good idea. “Besides...I suppose I literally have all the time in the world to make up my mind about it, yeah?”

“Does that...does that mean you want to stay?” he asked her, swallowing hard.

“I suppose so...for now,” she said. “But if I stay, I’d have a few conditions. For instance...I’d want to see my mum. Sooner rather than later, so I could see that she’s okay with my own eyes, and she could see me. I miss her so much...and there’s so much I have to say to her.”

“But you can’t,” he said flatly.

“What do you mean I can’t? You just told me I could go free. You’ll let me go free, but you won’t let me go visit my mum?” she said, her voice rising with confusion and distress.

“No, it’s not that...I mean you can’t tell her. About any of this. Gallifrey, time travel, me...none of it. Besides the fact she’ll think you’re potty, we can’t risk corrupting the timelines. You’ve traveled into the future, you have knowledge of it. You can bring that knowledge with you to the past...but you can’t share it. You can’t do anything that would possibly change the course of time. And well...that’s the other thing. If you go...you’ll have to forget me and Jack. Everything that’s happened since we met in the slave exchange. I’ve shared too much with you...Jack shared too much. I couldn’t knowingly send you back to your time with just a promise not to whisper of a thing you’ve seen. You’re only human...you’d have to tell someone. And I can’t risk that. So you are free to go...but I will have to wipe all your memories of the time we’ve spent together when you do.”

She gaped at him. “You can’t possibly be serious,” she said, though she knew he absolutely was. Even as he had been saying the words, she realised the truth behind them. In a similar position, she probably would’ve felt the same way. Another thought occurred to her. “How far into the future are we, anyway?”

“Into your future?” he asked hesitantly. “A thousand years, give or take…”

“A thousand years?” she cried, incredulous. “A thousand years? Oh my God...my mum’s already dead anyway. This whole time I’ve been here with you, and she’s been dead...”

“You can’t look at it like that,” he told her gently. “In this time, our time...yes, she’s gone. But she’s living a perfectly happy life in her own time, in New London. I’ve seen to that-I had her moved from the Powell Estate. I arranged a means for her to anonymously come into a significant amount of money, so she wouldn’t be suspicious. Your mother is taken care of, Rose, I’ve seen to that, as I promised I would. I know I’ve not always been forthcoming with you, but I am a man of my word. If I make a promise, I keep it.”

“How can you say she’s living a perfectly happy life? You think any parent at all could do that, not knowing what had happened to their only child, and believing probably the worst happened to them? she asked him angrily. “What is wrong with you?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry...poor choice of words, again. I don’t know that your mum is happy, she probably isn’t really. I’d like to think she’s as happy as she could be under the circumstances, though. She’s in a better, safer place than she was before. She doesn’t have to work-she can just garden and enjoy the flowers and relax and do whatever she likes. You can go be with her, and you’ll both be safe and cared for and you’ll never have to work again. But you can’t remember me,” he said, and she could see the pure agony in his eyes as he said it. Whatever his feelings for her were, they were genuine, and it hit her like a suckerpunch to the gut.

“You’re really going to make me choose between the two of you?” she asked him again, unbelieving of what was happening. Now she almost wondered if she was stuck in some sort of surreal nightmare.

“If the choice were cut and dry, you would’ve made it already, the second I told you you were free to go. Yet you’re still sitting here...holding my hand,” he said softly. She looked down, and saw that he was right-their hands were still clasped tightly together, fingers entwined.

“So I am,” she said softly, biting her lip and trying not to meet his gaze. “What if...couldn’t we just visit her? I mean, you and I pulled a charade off for Harry and Rani pretty well and I don’t even know them. Fooling my own mother would have to be easier, yeah? If I had a good plan...would you take me to see her?”

“I’m listening,” he replied, indicating she should continue.

“Well, I’m assuming I just disappeared without a trace, so far as New Earth is concerned. My mum has no idea that I went through the slave exchange. All I’m saying is...I ran away for a boy once, don’t think it’d be too hard to convince her that I’d done it again. We can show up, I’ll act very surprised and contrite that I’ve worried her, and ask didn’t she get my postcards? She’ll be angry sure, but she’ll be so relieved she’ll get over it. Especially if I show up to announce my engagement to the rich, handsome foreign man who’s gotten me pregnant. Andrea’s always wanted grandchildren.”

Now it was his turn to look shocked. “But you’re not, you’re not…” he stammered.

“No, I’m not. Not yet, anyway. But we can work on that,” she said, tilting her head to kiss him. When his mouth met hers in the middle, it was with both passion and relief that he kissed her. Wrapped up in each other’s arms, they sank back down against the blanket and stretched out, pressed tight against each other and still locked at the lips. Lost in the moment, neither one of them noticed that up the mountain, interested and curious eyes were watching.

Waiting.


	22. A Past Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor reveals to Alba another snippet of his tortured past.

“So much for swimming,” Alba panted, letting her head fall back against the blanket .

“We can still go swimming...,” the Doctor replied, sounding equally breathless as his hands skated across her body. He tugged at her night gown, and she lifted her hips to aid him in removing the garment. It was a routine she was becoming accustomed to. “You know...if that’s what you’d rather be doing. I seem to remember you inferring something along the lines of me impregnating you, though. Thought I’d maybe take a crack at that first. Practice makes perfect, after all.” The rest of the wolfish words were lost as he pressed his lips against her throat and let his fingers trace the curve of her hip. He propped himself back up on his elbows and regarded her with large, curious eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Memorising this moment. How beautiful you are. I never want to forget this,” he replied quietly, his thumb moving in soft circles across her bare skin. “Don’t know that I could if I tried, though.”

She graced him with an even softer smile. Alba never would’ve figured the Doctor to be the sentimental sort, but here it seemed so. He ran his fingers through her hair and lifted it away from her face before planting another soft kiss to her lips. She felt the flush rising back up her body again as he worked his way from her mouth to her throat and back down to her collarbones. The Doctor fluttered a trail of fire from each breast to the apex of her thighs, from which he stopped to pause and look up at her.

“That’s generally not how you get a girl pregnant,” she teased him lightly, though she suddenly felt nervous. He was switching tact, being soft and sweet with her, nothing like the rough and tumble Doctor she’d encountered that first night in the library. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. She wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing half the time, least of all right now.

Both of them heard the audible _crunch_ of a branch snapping from the brush at the edge of the beach. Immediately, the Doctor pulled back from her and got to his feet, shielding his eyes from the twin suns to peer back in the direction the sound had come from as a flash of light came from the treeline.

“What was that?” she asked in a startled tone, crossing her arms protectively in front of her breasts.

“Quiet,” he hushed her darkly, going still. In spite of the warmth of the sun on her shoulders, she felt pins and needles prickle coolly over her as she watched him stride back toward the foot of the mountain. She heard more rustling, and the Doctor’s startled exclamation as a teenaged boy with a camera clutched in his hand came crashing out of one of the trees to the sandy turf below.

“What the bleedin’ hell?” the Doctor spat accusingly.

The tow-headed boy looked up at him sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head. “Hey there...friend.”

“Don’t ‘hey there friend’ me you little bastard, you know perfectly well this is private land and I’m willing to bet you know who’s private land it is as well!” the Doctor spat angrily, snatching the camera from the boy’s hand as he gesticulated.

“Hey!” the boy protested, grasping hopelessly after his camera, which even from her distant view Alba could see was expensive. The Doctor it appeared was scrolling through the images and snorting in disgust. Rather than delete the pictures, he turned and hurled the camera as hard as he could at a nearby boulder. The teenager let loose with a long string of colorful epithets, which the Doctor returned in kind, still gesturing wildly all the way. When the boy made to come after him, the Doctor caught and easily held him in a chokehold. Things had escalated rather quickly. Paralyzed by fear, Alba could only watch from a distance in horrified fascination.

“You know who I am. You know what you were doing. Tell me now why I shouldn’t kill you?” the Doctor whispered in a low tone audible only to himself and the boy.

“Can’t...can’t...breathe…” the boy gasped.

“Too bad. Answer the question. You have one minute,” the Doctor warned.

“They...they...made...me...do...it...I’m...sor...sorry.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” he asked the boy in response.

“You..you...kn...know.”

He released the boy, who fell to his knees, gasping and choking. When he spat into his palm, there was bright red in it. His gaze turned on the Doctor, the emotion in his eyes was unmistakable rage. The Doctor refused to meet his gaze back.

“Go. And tell the goddamn cowards that the next time they dare to send a child to do their dirty work for them, I won’t be so merciful.”

The boy didn’t hesitate. He limped past the shattered remains of his camera before he disappeared back into the brush on the side of the mountain, presumably back to wherever he had come from. Sprinting back to Alba, the Doctor helped her back into her night gown before hustling her quickly across the beach and carefully into the brush at the base of the mountain forest.

“What the hell just happened back there that you felt the need to threaten a teenage boy?” she asked him, feeling the icy fingers of fear dance across the back of her neck.

“Ground rules, Rose. I ask the questions, remember?” he said, none too gruffly.

“Oh, so it’s like that again now?” she asked in bitter disbelief, not completely surprised that he had once again run hot and then cold again on her. 

“Yes, it’s like that again now,” he said, grinding his teeth as he lead them upwards and finally back inside.

She just stared at him. “What is wrong with you? Are you bipolar or something?”

At that statement he just laughed. “There’s no such thing as mental illness on Gallifrey, Rose. Or rather I should say we don’t believe in mental illness.”

“That’s not an answer to my question,” she said, crossing her arms. “So there is something wrong with you then. That’s why you’re avoiding giving me a straight answer. And you still won’t tell me what the deal with that teenage boy back there was.”

“Nevermind mind about that teenage boy, Rose. We have a history that you aren’t aware of. His father and I...well, to say we’re mortal enemies would be putting it rather mildly. But I think it’s quite obvious there’s more than a few things wrong with me, Rose,” he said softly.

“Are you mad?” she pressed.

“Real crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, Rose, so what’s the point in asking me a question like that?”

“Because you are mad. And you know it,” she said evenly.

He was silent.

“This is stupid. You’re a chemist. If you’re sick, couldn’t you just develop a drug or something to make yourself better?”

“If it were that simple, don’t you think I would’ve done it already? Just leave me alone!” he hissed at her, stomping in through the open door that was suddenly there. Numbly, Alba followed after him past the great fireplace into the dining room (so they had come back up a different way than they had gone out). She’d only been trying to help him, and she’d upset him without even meaning to. He flopped dramatically into one of the chairs and laid his head down on the table.

She decided maybe she ought to make them tea. Bustling about the kitchen, she located the kettle and set the water to boil before sitting down at the table across from the Doctor. He lifted his head to look at her, and sighed heavily, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

“How’d that kid find us, anyway? I thought no one knew we were here,” she finally asked, breaking the uneasy silence that had settled over the room.

“No one was supposed to know we were here, but I guess somehow they found out. Maybe someone saw us going up the mountain yesterday,” he replied wearily.

“Are we going to have to leave?” Alba asked, thinking of the baby book she hadn’t yet had a chance to examine in private.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know where we’re better off now, here or the penthouse. This place was supposed to be private, damnit!” he shouted, thumping his fist against the table for emphasis.

Alba wasn’t sure what to say in response to his outburst, so she busied herself fixing their tea. The ritual of it helped to calm her, as the encounter out on the beach had her nerves pulled tight. She knew from experience that the Doctor had a violent side to him, but she’s honestly thought for a moment there that he might’ve killed that teenage boy, and that frightened her to no end. Here, she’d thought they were making progress. Now she wasn’t so sure. Setting the tea down at the table, she slid back into her seat and decided to try and coax answers from him once more.

“So that kid’s father is your ‘mortal enemy’. That sounds pretty intense. What’d he do to become your enemy?” she asked, taking a sip of her tea.

The Doctor just stared back at her, his own mug untouched. Nervously, he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up before he decided to answer her question. “He was...involved in the death of my wife and daughter,” he said finally, with some resignation.

“Oh,” Alba replied. That answered at least one of her questions, though it raised a few more in its wake. “What happened?”

“What difference does it make?” the Doctor retorted nastily. “They’re still dead, and they’re going to stay that way. Nothing I do will ever change that fact.” He stirred his tea viciously, staring down at the table as he did.

Suddenly, an idea popped into Alba’s head. She was almost afraid to ask the question on the tip of her tongue, for fear of how the Doctor might react. “What about the vortex manipulator? Couldn’t you go back in time and stop them from dying?”

“No,” he replied miserably. “The vortex manipulator was created years after they died. It’s too late to go back and change things now. Besides, you can’t cross your own timeline. If I tried to change the circumstances of their death, it could change everything. Of course I used to think about it, but it’s just not possible. Besides, that really would be playing a god.”

His answer surprised her. He didn’t seem the type who’d mind breaking and bending the rules, considering what he’d done to get her here in the first place. Still, he seemed adamant about using the vortex manipulator to alter the events of his own past. She couldn’t help but wonder why, and what would really happen if he tried.

“So now what?” she asked helplessly, at a loss for anything else to say.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, draining his teacup. “I’m trying to decide whether my threats were sufficient enough as to scare off anyone else who might fancy spying on us. The last thing I need right now is for pictures of us to become front page fodder for that bastard’s rag of a news publication.”

“That kid was a paparazzi?” Alba asked, finishing her own tea.

“He might as well have been. His father is the editor of the Gallifrey Ledger, and nothing is sacred as far as he’s concerned. When my wife and daughter died, he ran a story trying to imply that I’d somehow had a hand in their deaths. As if I could ever hurt them!” he said, shaking. 

“That’s horrible,” Alba said, reaching out for the Doctor’s hand. He let her take it, and she squeezed it in gentle reassurance. “I can’t even imagine how that must have made you feel.”

“Yeah well it was all bullshit, but that didn’t stop some people from believing it. He nearly ruined my life, what was left of it,” the Doctor said, squeezing Alba’s hand painfully tight.

“If we leave now, we let them win,” she said simply in return.

“By finding us, he already has won,” the Doctor replied, his tone laced with defeat. “I have to believe he’s not done trying to get to me.”

“Well, we just won’t let him,” Alba said, but she was unsure of how exactly they would do this.

“You’re still so optimistic, after everything I’ve already put you through. How?” he asked, staring at her imploringly.

“I’ve been through worse. Jimmy Stone, remember? I thought my life was over, too, when it all happened. But I bounced back, somehow. Please, let me try to help you do the same,” she said sincerely.

“I don’t deserve someone as good as you,” he reiterated.

She blew a raspberry at him dismissively. “Well, you’re stuck with me all the same. No use saying you don’t deserve me, cause here I am. We’ll get through this.”

“I hope you’re right,” he replied, playing with his teaspoon.


	23. Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba discovers the Doctor's real name.

The Doctor finally decided to stay at the mountain house, in spite of the incident with the teenaged photographer, claiming that she was right-if they left now, the others had already won. That night, Alba waited until he was softly snoring beside her to creep out of the bed and tiptoe down the hall to the linen closet. Carefully, she shoved the blankets out of the way and retrieved the baby book from the spot she’d hidden it in earlier. She sat down on the floor and folded her legs underneath of her before cracking the book open. 

The writing was somewhat difficult to read, having only moonlight to go by, but she brought the book closer to her face and squinted at it until the letters arranged themselves into something that made sense, the Doctor’s real name.

“James John McCrimmon,” she read out loud, her voice soft in the semi-darkness. So that was the Doctor’s name, not John Smith. Seeing it on paper gave her a weird tingle. She was discovering the Doctor’s history, bit by bit, without his knowledge. She thumbed through the book, skimming over the details of Susanna’s first steps, first words, and other important milestones. Peppered throughout the book were photographs, mostly just of the baby by herself, but some of her with her parents as well. Alba stared at these photos in fascination, scrutinizing the face of the blonde woman who’d been the Doctor’s wife. The resemblance to herself was so striking, it was uncanny. No wonder he sometimes looked at her like he was seeing a ghost. The family in the pictures looked happy, and Alba felt a pang of sadness for everything the tortured man currently sleeping in the bedroom had lost.

Still, in spite of everything she had learned about the Doctor, his life was mostly a secret to her. She was morbidly curious about the details of the accident that had claimed his wife and daughter’s lives, but she didn’t suppose it was anything he’d be revealing to her in the near future. Wishing she had Jack to talk to about everything that had happened that day, she slid the baby book back into its hiding place and crept back down the hall, back to the bedroom. The Doctor was sprawled across the bed like a pretzel, muttering in his dreams. Carefully, she squeezed into the bed next to him and stared up at the canopy, willing sleep to come.

* * * * *

When Alba awoke, the light of the twin suns was streaming through the window, and the bed was empty, save for herself. She got up and padded out into the hallway, following the sound and smell of sizzling bacon to the kitchen. The Doctor was stationed in front of the stove, whistling softly to himself. Alba cleared her gently, so as not to startle him.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he said, turning towards her with the spatula held in his hands. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

“That’s sweet of you, but isn’t that supposed to be my job?” she teased him, taking a seat at the dining room table.

“I got hungry and you were still asleep. How do you take your eggs?” he asked her.

“Over easy, please,” she answered.

“Your wish is my command,” he replied, waving the spatula theatrically. Alba laughed, and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“So what’s on your agenda today?” she asked, sipping her coffee slowly.

“Well after breakfast, you have a dancing lesson and I have business to attend to. I doubt you’re familiar with the dances of Gallifrey, and you’ll have to learn before the wedding,” he said matter-of-factly. “Have you ever been ballroom dancing before?”

“Can’t say that I have,” she replied. “Is it complicated?”

“A little, and that’s why you’re taking lessons,” he elaborated, scooping the bacon from the skillet and setting it on a plate to drain. “Toast?”

“You can’t have dippy eggs without toast,” she laughed.

“Well you could, but it wouldn’t be the same,” he replied, slipping a couple slices of bread into the toaster oven.

A few minutes later, the Doctor slipped two steaming plates onto the table and took a seat next to her. Hungrily, they both tucked into the food in relative silence. Alba hadn’t realized just how hungry she’d been until the eggs and bacon were right in front of her. After breakfast, she helped him clear the dishes and made herself a second cup of coffee.

“So what am I going to wear to this dancing lesson anyway? I don’t have any real clothes here,” Alba said.

“I have some of my wife’s old clothes here. She was about your size,” he replied soberly. Alba watched him carefully after this admission, to see if the mention of his wife would lead anywhere, but the closed expression on his face told her it wouldn’t. She had to wonder though if he had an ulterior motive for putting her in Romana’s old clothing.

“Well, I guess I better get dressed then,” she replied, unsure of what else to say. She followed the Doctor back to the bedroom, where he took her to a large closet hidden in an alcove behind the bed. Some clothes was an understatement, as it looked to her like most of the closet was full of women’s clothing. She was surprised that he didn’t have the clothes boxed up or in storage-they hung like ghosts, almost as if they were waiting for their owner to return for them. She wondered how long this house had sat unused before their arrival.

She chose a short, dark blue A-line dress out of the closet and made to remove her nightgown. The Doctor watched her as she changed, his face impassive. She wondered again who he was really seeing as he watched her get dressed. She selected a pair of nude high heels to wear with the dress, and then did a little spin.

“What do you think?” she asked.

He gave her an appreciative glance, but she saw in his eyes the conflict he was feeling. “I think you look lovely. That dress fits like it was made for you.”

“You’re sure you can’t come with me to the dancing lesson?” she asked, pouting.

“Not this one, maybe next time. You’ll have a couple lessons before the wedding,” he replied. “Jack will be there, though.”

Her heart leapt at the thought of seeing the man who was her only friend in the world at present. “Is Jack the teacher?”

“No, he’ll be standing in for me as your partner. And I swear, if he gets handsy with you…” the Doctor warned.

“I think he knows you well enough not to risk getting ‘handsy’, Doctor,” Alba said with a laugh. She thought of Jack’s reaction the night she had thrown herself at him, how he’d almost seemed frightened by the idea of trespassing on the Doctor’s so-called ‘property’.

“Well if you’re ready then, I’ll take you,” he said, offering her his arm. “No blindfolds or headphones, either. You already know where we are now...no point in trying to obscure it from you.”

Alba let out a sigh of relief as she let the Doctor lead her down the hall.. “Well thank you for that.”

They cut through the kitchen and back into the pantry where they’d first emerged. He lead her back into the dark tunnel with an apologetic look. “The garage is through here.”

Alba clutched him tightly as they wove their way through the darkness, finally exiting into a cavernous room with several hover cars in it. All of the cars looked expensive, certainly nicer than the cheap things her mates had driven. The Doctor lead her to a sleek black hover car in the corner of the room and opened the door for her. After they were both buckled in, he pressed a remote control clipped to the visor and the ceiling above them rumbled open to reveal the sky. Alba was excited at the prospect of seeing more of Gallifrey, and she clung close to the window of the car, looking down and outwards as the landscape unfurled below them. The ride to the lesson took about thirty minutes, and brought them into a large city, built up with skyscrapers. The Doctor parked the car and brought Alba into the ornate building where her lesson was to be held. Inside the dance studio, she was relieved to find Jack was already waiting. She waited until after the Doctor had left to run up to the other man and give him a hug.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she gushed. “It’s been a crazy couple of days.”

“Why, what happened? Is everything okay?” Jack asked, concern lacing his voice.

“I don’t know. There was a photographer spying on us and the Doctor sort of lost it on him, almost strangled the kid. And…,” but she hesitated, wondering if she could trust Jack with her discovery of the baby book. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Who else would you tell your secrets to?” Jack teased. “You can talk to me. I won’t run back to the Doctor with the information.”

“Well,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. “I found something. It was a baby book. It had pictures and a birth certificate in it. So I know the Doctor’s real name now, but he doesn’t know it. And I know now just how much alike me and his wife look...it’s a little creepy, honestly. I’m wearing her clothes right now, to boot.”.

Jack regarded her seriously. “I wouldn’t tell him you found it. He’d probably be upset.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock. That’s why I’m telling you and not him. Before we went to the mountain house, he kept calling me Romana. I wonder about him...if he’s not trying to turn me into her, if he’s not losing it,” Alba worried.

“Honey, I hate to break it to you, but I think the Doctor lost it years ago, when his wife and daughter died. He hasn’t been the same since. But you do look so much like Romana...hopefully it was just a Freudian slip. You just need to be patient with him, that’s all,,” Jack lamented.

“I have been patient. I’m still being patient, considering everything he’s put me through already. I told him I’d stay as long as he needed me to. But I have to wonder how long he plans on keeping me in the dark about stuff as basic as his name and his job. He hardly tells me anything, and that’s frustrating. All I get from him are little nuggets of information here and there, but it’s like pulling teeth to get them,” Alba complained. “He finally did tell me where we are, but I still almost can’t believe it.”

“Just give it time, Rosie. The Doctor has grown quite fond of you since you’ve been here, you just have to trust that if he’s been telling you little things here and there that he’ll continue to do so. He’s probably gauging how much he can trust you still, just as I’m sure you’ve done to him. The Doctor is a complex man, always has been,” Jack said gently, rubbing Alba’s shoulders.

At that moment, the dance instructor finally made his appearance, and their conversation halted as a result. The instructor introduced himself as Nurmeen, and without hesitating began leading Jack and Alba through the steps to the dance. Alba tried to pay attention, but her mind was elsewhere and the instructor could tell.

“Come on, stay with it, girl!” Nurmeen encouraged.

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Alba grumbled back at him.

Jack was a natural at dancing though, and he lead them easily through the different steps. As he gripped her waist though, she couldn’t help but wish it were the Doctor she was dancing with instead, and immediately felt guilty for the thought. Jack was a fine dance partner, and she supposed it’d be easier to learn with him then with having the added distraction of the emotional dancing that would have been necessary with the Doctor.

By the time the lesson ended, Alba was exhausted. The dancing was more difficult and strenuous than she might have imagined, and it left her feeling drained. She still didn’t quite grasp all the moves, though she was starting to get the gist of it. The Doctor had returned near the end of the lesson, and stood waiting for them against the wall.

“How’d it go?” he asked, smiling at Alba as she approached him.

“Okay, I guess. Let’s just say it’s a good thing I have three more weeks to get it down pat,” Alba sighed breathlessly.

The Doctor laughed. “You’ll do fine. You’re a clever girl, I bet you’re a faster learner than you think.”

“If you say so,” Alba said, flapping her hand dismissively.

“She did beautifully,” Jack said, coming up behind them. “She’s just being overly critical of herself.”

“Stop it,” Alba blushed.

“Never,” Jack replied, wagging his tongue at her.

The three of them left the dance studio together in a cheerful mood. Nurmeen watched them go, and when he was sure they had left, he picked up his phone.

“Hello, Harry? I think you’ll want to hear this.”


	24. Only Time Will Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba and the Doctor talk about the future.

Back at the house that night, the Doctor insisted on seeing for himself what Alba had learned at her dance lesson. In the dining room, in front of the grand fireplace, he lead her easily through the steps while rain pelted against the wall of windows, sluicing down the glass in rivulets.

“If you know how to dance, why don’t you just teach me yourself?” she finally asked him as he twirled her.

The Doctor smiled, and dipped her low to the ground. “I’m not really the teaching type, believe it or not.”

“Well, you’re an excellent dancer,” she replied.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “Once upon a time, I had lessons myself. Anyway, practice makes perfect. We’ve only got three weeks til the wedding, and you’ll need to know how to dance like the locals do. We don’t want to give anyone a reason to suspect you might be an offworlder.”

“Certainly not,” she said with a nod, turning her gaze to the stormy sea below them. “Does it rain here often?”

“No more than your own world,” he said, finally taking a seat at the table. Alba pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, and began drumming her fingers on the tabletop.

“It’s funny, you’d expect an alien world to be so different. But your cities still look so much like New Earth cities,” she commented.

“Well, we came from New Earth. We may have left many of their traditions and superstitions behind, but we’re still human. You should see the Citadel, though. Now that’s a city to see,,” the Doctor said matter-of-factly. “I guess going to the city reminded you of New London. Are you feeling homesick?”

Alba searched herself, and was surprised at what she found. “Not really, no. I mean, I miss my mum, but I don’t miss New Earth. Gallifrey is far more beautiful than where I grew up. I could get used to living here, maybe.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say that,” the Doctor said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I want you to be happy here, Rose. I want this place to feel like home for you.”

Alba squeezed his hand back. “I adapt quickly. I’m sure I’ll get used to this place, even with all its differences. I have you to help me.”

“Well I sincerely hope you’ll come to like it, and not just get used to it. Gallifrey’s not perfect...but I think it comes pretty damn close,” the Doctor said seriously, looking out at the water. “Shame, we never did get to go swimming…”

“There’s always tomorrow. We’ve got time,” Alba said.

“That we do,” the Doctor agreed sagely.

They lapsed into an awkward silence then, and Alba thought how difficult it was to be around the Doctor at times like this. He certainly didn’t make things easy for her, not with all the secrets. Still, he’d been opening up to her a little bit more everyday, and she remained hopeful that things between them wouldn’t always feel so forced.

“What are you thinking?” she asked him.

He leaned his head towards her. “I’m thinking that we never finished what we started on the beach,” he said, his breath warm on the bare skin of her neck. 

“No, we didn’t,” she murmured as he pressed his lips against her throat and gently nibbled. She felt her stomach flipping as he did. How did he manage to have this sort of effect on her?

“I think we ought to pick back up where we left off. In the bedroom,” he suggested, letting his fingers skate across her collarbones.

“If you insist,” Alba mumbled.

“I do,” he replied, gathering her into his arms and carrying her down the hallway. Gently, he deposited her onto the bed and stepped back to look at her expectantly.

“What?” she asked, sensing that he was nervous about something.

“I have something for you,” he said finally, reaching into his suit pocket and withdrawing a small object. Even from where she was sitting, she could tell that it was a syringe.

Her mouth went dry. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“A fertility injection. Increases the likelihood of conception up to 50 times. That is...if you’re still okay with all this,” he stammered, sounding like a nervous schoolboy. She pretended not to notice that his hands were slightly shaking.

“Oh,” Alba replied, because that hadn’t been at all what she was expecting. Still, she supposed it shouldn’t be too surprising. After all...he was a chemist.

“You haven’t changed your mind about all this, have you? Because if you have, that’s okay,” he said, the words coming out in a rush.

“No. No, I haven’t changed my mind. You just took me by surprise, that’s all,” she said, shifting herself so that she was sitting up to look at him. Having sex with the Doctor was one thing. Fertility injections though were another matter entirely. It made her promise to him earlier that much more real. She swallowed, hard. “Alright...so what do you need me to do?”

The Doctor let his breath out in a sigh of relief. “Lift up or take off your dress, lay on your stomach, and I’ll give you the injection in the thigh.”

Obediently, Alba stood and removed her dress before laying back down on the bed, arms spread above her head. The Doctor swabbed the prospective injection site with an alcohol wipe, and then uncapped the syringe with his teeth. Very carefully, he slid the needle into Alba’s skin and depressed the plunger. She hissed a little at the pain, to which the Doctor muttered a quiet apology.

“How long does it take for the drug to take effect?” she asked, rolling to look at him when he had finished.

“Oh, it’s practically instantaneous. The drug causes ovulation, and in general makes the body more receptive to pregnancy. You shouldn’t feel any different, though,” the Doctor assured her, divesting himself of his own clothing. Naked, he slid onto the bed next to her. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered him truthfully, propping herself up on her elbows. She was all nerves all of sudden.

“Right then. Just lay back and relax,” he coaxed, pushing gently on her shoulder until she was reclined back on the bed. When she had done that, he moved closer and began to kiss her neck. She shivered at the touch, but he didn’t seem to notice, continuing to kiss his way down her throat and across her collarbones. He did seem to love her collarbones. His hands skated across the curves of her body, mapping the little imperfections, stroking softly.

The Doctor seemed to want to take charge, and Alba let him, laying there placidly as his lips and fingers made their way down her body. When he reached her waist, he paused to pull her legs apart before burying his face in the damp thatch of curls between her thighs. She closed her eyes and clutched at the sheets, moaning softly as he continued his ministrations. His hands rested on her hips, holding her steady even as she writhed against the bed. It didn’t take long for her to climax, gasping and panting as she did. The Doctor lifted his head and graced her with a salacious smile, moving his way back up her body. When he kissed her, she tasted herself on his lips.

Even as they kissed, his hands were still roaming her body, gently pulling and pinching and teasing. When he finally positioned himself at her entrance, she was ready for him. With a satisfied sigh, he thrust up into her and began to move against her, picking up a steady rhythm that made her body shake. She clung tightly to him, digging her nails into the scant meat of his shoulders, forcing his body closer to her own. His breathing quickened, indicating his own release was fast approaching. Alba thrust her own hips, feeling her pleasure building. The Doctor finally emptied himself into her with a groan before collapsing against her, his head pillowed by her breasts. She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged gently, listening to his breathing coming in shallow pants and gasps.

“So, do you think we did it?” she asked him.

“Hmmm?” he mumbled back.

“Do you think we did it? Made a baby, I mean,” she clarified.

“One can only hope,” he said, rolling off of her and settling next to her on the bed. He reached out for her hand and twined his fingers with her own. “Still...practice makes perfect. We could always try again later, just to be sure.”

“Any excuse to get me into bed, huh?” she teased.

“You know it,” he replied, and she heard the smile in his voice.

“So are you ready to do it again? Be a husband and a father,” she asked, turning to look at him.

 

A pained expression crossed his face. “I wasn’t ready the first time around, that’s for sure. I don’t know if anyone is ever really ready for marriage or parenthood. Still...I have to believe that things will work out better for me this time. Lightening doesn’t strike the same place twice,” he said darkly. “I want to learn from the mistakes I made in the past and do better going forward. I want to do right by you, Rose. Being with you makes me want to be a better man, and I have to believe that’s a good thing. My past...it isn’t glamorous. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of. But you’re my second chance, even if I don’t deserve one.”

“Maybe you’re my second chance, too,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m not perfect, either, you know. I’ve made mistakes. Jimmy Stone was one of them. I hope I can do better this time around.”

“You’re perfect to me,” he insisted, drawing her closer and into his arms. “I feel like I won the lottery, meeting you. I couldn’t ask for a kinder, sweeter, more brilliant girl.”

“Shut up,” she laughed.

“I mean it,” he said earnestly. “I know I don’t deserve you, so I can’t help but feel lucky.”

“Do you believe in fate?” she asked him. “Destiny, and all that.”

“Fate and destiny have too much in common with religion. We’ve never believed in that stuff on Gallifrey,” he replied. “We believe in being the master of your own destiny.”

“Well, I believe in fate. And I think you and I were destined to meet. You saved me, you know. I’ve thought about that...about the sort of man I could’ve ended up with at the slave exchange. But I didn’t, because I ended up with you instead. And if we really are each other’s second chances, I have to believe that it was meant to be that way. Not God, persay, but the universe maybe, interceding on our behalf,” she said, brushing his hair back from his brow.

He just smiled at her. “If you say so. It’s a nice thought, anyway.”

“Well, I do say so,” she said, snuggling against him. “I know we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, but I wouldn’t change it or take it back.”

“You don’t really mean that,” he said, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“Of course I mean it, that’s why I said it. The only regret I have about all this is knowing that my mum is probably worried sick about me. But you said you’d keep her safe and cared for, and I believe you. I just hope she isn’t struggling, that’s all,” Alba said, twisting her hair around her fingers.

“I promise you, your mother is being well cared for,” the Doctor said, stroking her hair.

“I really do miss her. Gallifrey is so beautiful, I wish she could see it,” she said. “She would love it here.”

“Every day, it hurts a little bit less,” the Doctor said.

“Hmm?” Alba murmured.

“Missing someone. Every day, it hurts a little bit less,” he repeated. 

“Oh,” she said, realizing with surprise that he was probably speaking more about himself than her. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Only time will tell,” he said, rubbing little circles across her shoulders. 

They lapsed into silence then, the only sound that of the rain pounding against the glass. Eventually, sleep overtook them both, and they slept like spoons.


	25. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the wedding drawing closer, Alba decides to confront the Doctor about his unknown history.

“So,” Jack said, tossing a glance over his shoulder. “Are you getting nervous yet?”

Alba looked out the window of the hover car at the landscape unfurling below them. They were leaving her sixth and final dance lesson and heading to her final dress fitting. She could scarcely believe it, but the wedding was already just three days away. At the sound of Jack’s voice, her head snapped up.

“I’ve been nervous this whole time,” she replied simply. “How could I not be?”

“Good point,” Jack said in response. “But you’ll do beautifully, I’m sure.”

“I hope you’re right,” Alba said, twisting a strand of her hair around her fingers. “The vows will be the hardest part of all this, probably. Memorizing a language I’ve never spoken before, having it all sound natural. There’s just so much expected of me.”

“Yeah, but the Doctor’s been helping with that. He said you seemed to have the knack for it,” Jack said.

“If you say so,” Alba replied. “He also said he wasn’t much of a teacher, either. Hence why you’ve been the one taking me to all my dance lessons.”

“I guess you just bring out the best in him,” Jack said. 

“Maybe,” Alba mused quietly.

The rest of the ride passed by in relative comfortable silence. Alba watched the landscape change as they flew out of the city and into the country. Jack turned on the radio at one point, and the car was flooded with unfamiliar music. Alba resisted the impulse to nervously nibble at her fingernails. Today was the day she actually got to see the dress she’d be wearing. It struck her how different this ride was from the last time they’d been to see the seamstress. She had earned the Doctor’s trust since then, and her reward was that she was allowed to ride unfettered by blindfolds and handcuffs, much to her relief. Finally, the hover car descended next to a small stone dwelling surrounded by silver-leafed trees.

“We’re here, kiddo,” Jack said unnecessarily as they unbuckled and got out of the car. Alba let him take her by the hand and lead her up to the house’s little porch. He knocked on the door three times in rapid succession. A red-haired woman answered the door, a small dog at her feet. She greeted Jack warmly, and ushered them into the house.

Alba looked around the room,, something she hadn’t been able to do the last time they’d been there. The area they were in was bright and sunny, full of mirrors and neatly folded piles of fabric. To the side of the room, near a bank of windows, stood a dressmaker’s dummy. In the middle of the room was a small platform. The dog sat by her feet, wagging its tail. She bent down to stroke it softly behind the ears. It was the first animal she’d seen since her arrival on Gallifrey. The dog turned its head and licked her hand playfully. Alba couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just scouting for treats,” the seamstress said, waving a hand.

“Oh, it’s alright. I love dogs,” Alba replied, standing back up. “It’s Jessuro, isn’t it?”

“That’s me,” the seamstress said, picking up a folded pile of lacey underthings. “If you could get undressed, dear, that’d be great.”

“Oh right, of course,” Alba said, glancing at Jack. He averted his eyes as she began to take off her clothes. When she had finished, the seamstress guided her onto the platform and began helping her into the complicated undergarments. Satisfied, she bustled off, presumably to gather up the wedding dress. She returned with the garment draped over her arms, and began helping Alba into it. Alba watched all this going on in the mirrors with interest.

“There we are,” Jessuro said, tightening the laces of the bodice.

“It’s beautiful,” Alba breathed, taking it all in. The gown was creamy white satin, mermaid style, with a sweetheart neckline. The bodice was decked out in hundreds of sparkling crystals in a swirling pattern reminiscent of stars in the sky. Behind her, Jessuro was pinning an impossibly long veil to the back of her head, completing the image. All she was missing were the shoes, which the seamstress carefully helped her into. Alba exhaled. She certainly looked the part of a bride. She couldn’t help but wish her mother was there to see her. She had always imagined trying on wedding dresses, but never like this.

“Well, what do you think?” Jessuro asked Jack, who was still looking politely away. 

He turned his head and gasped at the sight of her. “Wow. Rose, you look smashing!”

Alba blushed bright red. “Stop it,” she chided.

“No, really, you look fantastic. You were meant to wear that dress, for sure,” Jack said in wonder. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t take the Doctor’s breath away when he finally sees it.”

“He doesn’t know what it looks like?” Alba asked, fingering the edge of the delicate veil.

“No. He commissioned me to make it, but he left the design up to my discretion. So he has no idea what it looks like,” Jessuro said. “But Jack is right. It fits you like a glove. You’re a vision in white, if I do say so myself. Now try walking in it. I want to make sure you’re not tripping over the hem or anything.”

Alba stepped carefully off the platform and began walking around the room, the veil trailing behind her. She was pleased to find that she was able to move easily in the form-fitting gown. Jack and Jessuro watched her progress with interest.

“Perfect,” Jessuro remarked.

“Yes, it is,” Jack agreed as Alba came to stop in front of him. “All eyes will be on you, definitely.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Alba said with a frown. She didn’t like being the center of attention, but in a dress like this it was almost inevitable.

“You’ll be fine, doll,” Jack reassured her. 

“If you say so,” she said. That was becoming her go-to phrase of the day.

“I know so,” Jack replied, nodding his head.

“Well, if everything fits comfortably, we can go ahead and get you out of the dress, for now,” Jessuro said, guiding Alba back to the platform. She began unlacing the bodice. Once again, Jack averted his eyes as Alba got changed back into her everyday clothes.

“Thank you, Jessuro. The Doctor will be so pleased,” Jack said as they made to leave the house.

“I do my best,” the seamstress said with a nod, closing the door behind them.

Jack and Alba trudged back to the hover car and got in. They made pleasant small talk on the way back to the Doctor’s mountain home. Alba felt her nerves abating some as they set foot in the house. The Doctor was reading a book in the living room, waiting for them.

“Well, how’d it go?” he asked, taking off his glasses and folding them into his shirt pocket.

“Fine. The dress fits perfect, so no worries there,” Alba said. “And Nurmeen said my dancing has gotten much better. So I guess we’re all ready.”

“Good, glad to hear it,” the Doctor said, unfolding his long body from the couch. He came to stand by Alba, and slid his arm around her shoulder.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” Jack said, turning to leave. “See you at the wedding!”

The Doctor waited until Jack had left to pull Alba into a tight embrace. “I missed you,” he said, pulling his fingers through her hair.

“I was only gone a few hours,” Alba said into his shoulder.

“A few hours too long,” the Doctor replied, pulling back to kiss her. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Alba said with a smile, twining her fingers through the Doctor’s as he kissed his way down her neck.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he murmured softly, holding her tight against his body.

“It’ll be here soon enough,” Alba said neutrally.

“Yes, I know. These past couple of weeks with you have flown by. You’re just...so easy to be with. I feel like I can be myself around you,” the Doctor stated.

“Oh,” Alba mumbled, biting her tongue. How could he claim to be able to be himself around her when he still hardly told her anything? They talked, but it was rarely anything pertinent to the Doctor and his history.

“What?” he asked, studying her face. “Something is bothering you.”

“It’s nothing,” she insisted.

“I hardly think so. Rose, you can talk to me. I don’t want you being afraid of how I’ll react,” the Doctor commented.

“Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that was something I do worry about,” Alba admitted. “But if you’re sure...I just wish you talked to me more. You say you can be yourself around me, but you hardly tell me anything. You know so much about me, and I know almost nothing about you in comparison. I made my promises to you, and I think you know they were sincere. So I don’t know why you feel like you can marry me and have a baby with me, but you can’t trust me enough to talk to me about your life.”

The Doctor gazed upon her soberly. “What do you want to know?”

Alba was taken aback. She hadn’t expected that reaction at all. “Seriously?” she questioned.

“Yes, seriously. You’re right, of course. And I do trust you, honestly. So ask your questions...and I’ll do my best to answer them,” the Doctor said, spreading his hands.

“Well, do we have to do it standing here?” Alba asked lamely.

“No, of course not. Why don’t you put on the kettle and we can have a seat on the couch,” he said graciously.

Following his instruction, Alba ducked down the hallway into the kitchen, where she pulled the kettle out of the cabinet. She went to the sink and filled it with water before placing it on the stove to boil. While she waited for the telltale whistle, she fished through the pantry for the tea bags, finally selecting a breakfast blend that smelled promising. She got out two mugs and sugar from the cabinets, and pulled the cream out of the fridge. Tapping her fingers on the counter, she waited for the kettle to whistle and arranged the tea bags in their respective mugs. When the kettle finally shrieked its readiness, she carefully poured the water over the tea bags to let them steep. That done, she fixed the Doctor’s tea first, then her own before retreating back to the living room.

The Doctor was perched on the couch, waiting. She carefully placed the two steaming mugs on the coffee table before angling herself onto the couch next to him. He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. She relaxed against him, and turned her head to look at him. He made a gesture, indicating she should talk.

“You know, I didn’t actually expect you to open up to me. Now I’m almost not sure where to begin,” she confessed.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said with a smile.

“Alright,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. “I assume John Smith is just a psuedonym...so what’s your real name?”

“John is my middle name. But yes, John Smith is an assumed name. My real name is James McCrimmon. Most people call me Jamie,” he said, taking a sip of his tea.

“Jamie,” she repeated. “So what should I call you?”

“Whatever you like, I suppose. John, Jamie, Doctor, any of those are suitable,” he responded.

“Okay, well I know that you’re a chemist. But I don’t know what you actually do for a living or where you work,” she stated.

“I’m a chemist at my father’s company. It’s a scientific research firm with several different departments. I work mainly in the medical sector, developing new drugs and equipment,” he replied. “Is that specific enough, or were you still curious?”

“No, that’s fine,” she indicated, nodding her head. She took a sip of her tea and tapped her fingers against the side of the mug, thinking of her next question. She knew what she wanted to ask, but she also knew that it was a sensitive subject for the Doctor.

“Is that it?” he asked it.

“No, I just...I’m thinking of how I want to word it. I don’t want to upset you,” she said.

“I’m a big boy, I’m sure I can handle it,” the Doctor said lightly.

“Your wife and daughter...what happened to them?” she asked, the words coming out in a rush.

“Ah,” the Doctor said. “I might’ve known.” He sighed heavily, and scrubbed at his face with his hands.

Alba looked at him anxiously. “See, I knew it would upset you.”

“Well, they say time heals all wounds. I’m not so sure about that, though. Some things...they just stick with you. What happened to my wife and daughter is one of those things,” the Doctor said darkly, his hands tightening around his mug. “It should’ve been me, but instead it was them.”

“Doctor, what happened?” Alba asked softly.

“There was an accident,” the Doctor replied, a far-off look on his face. “Romana and I had an argument, and she took Susanna to leave, in my hover car. But someone had tampered with it, not knowing that Romana would be the one to drive it next. The car failed, and crashed. Romana and Susanna were killed instantly.”

Alba gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, that’s terrible! But why would anyone want to try and kill you?”

“Because at the time I was working for the Gallifreyan Intelligence Agency developing new drugs to use in chemical warfare. They never did discover who was the one behind the plot to kill me, but they thought it might be someone who didn’t want my work to progress. And after the smear article in the Gallifrey Ledger, a lot of people thought that I’d engineered the accident myself to get rid of Romana. Things had gotten bad between us, but I could never hurt her, never hurt Susanna. All these years, it’s haunted me that I couldn’t bring their killer to justice and clear my own name. So many people have forgotten about it now, but there are still people out there that think I’m a monster. And maybe they’re right. I did drag you into all this…,” he said bitterly.

“You’re not a monster,” Alba said softly, laying her hand on his arm in reassurance.

“Aren’t I, though? You don’t even know the half of it,” he said, hanging his head between his knees. “I was a terrible husband and a mediocre father. Don’t get me wrong...I loved my wife and daughter, in my own way. But at the same time, I resented them for trapping me. I was so young, all I could see was that they were pinning me down. Romana was always on me that I didn’t spend enough time with her and the baby, and the more she nagged, the more I stayed away. I used work as an excuse to avoid home, avoid facing them. I didn’t realize what I had until it was already gone. She was my best friend, and I treated her like she was nothing. And then she died, never knowing how I really felt.”

Alba was silent. She didn’t know what words to use to comfort the Doctor, though she desperately wanted to. She settled for putting her arms around him.

“You don’t know how badly I wish I could go back and change things. Spend more time with them, be a better husband and father. Hindsight is 20/20, I guess,” he said with a choked sob, sinking against her.

Alba held him against her and ran her fingers through his hair soothingly.

“You’re quiet. I bet you’re thinking you wish you could get out of here and away from the madman,” the Doctor said with a watery laugh.

“No. I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it. We’ve all made mistakes in the past, we’ve all done things we regret. But we have to move forward from them. I don’t think you’re a monster, Doctor. But it doesn’t really matter what I think. At some point, you have to learn to forgive yourself,” Alba said gently. “You’ve got a second chance here, with me. Now you have to decide if you’re going to make the best of it and do things differently, or stay paralyzed by the past. So what’s it going to be?”

“I’ll do better by you. I promise. I won’t waste my second chance,” he said, his breath hitching in his throat.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Alba said, hugging him tightly. “You and me, we’re in this together now, remember?”

The Doctor sniffled and wiped at his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Alba said, satisfied by his answer. She tilted his head up, and placed a kiss on his forehead.

The Doctor managed a tiny smile. “You just might be my salvation, you know.”

“I’m just a girl, Doctor. Your salvation lies in your forgiving yourself. But I’m certainly here to help with that,” Alba murmured softly.

Desperately, his lips sought her own, like a drowning man in search of air. She kissed him back, equally as intense. His hands tangled in her hair, he pushed her down against the couch and buried his face in the side of her neck.

“Rose Tyler...Alba Prentice. I do believe I’m falling for you,” he whispered in her ear.

“Well that’s good, seeing as we’re about to get married,” she breathed.

“And I can’t wait,” the Doctor reiterated, letting his hands skate over her body.

“Make love to me?” she implored.

“With pleasure,” the Doctor growled.


	26. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Doctor and Alba get intimate, he has an idea.

“Make love to me?” she implored.

“With pleasure,” the Doctor growled.

He scooped Alba up easily from the couch and tossed her over his shoulder like he was Tarzan and she was Jane. She laughed and kicked her feet as he carried her down the hallway to the bedroom, keeping his arm hooked firmly around her waist. He deposited her by the bed, where she stood waiting.

“You’re wearing entirely too many clothes right now,” he drawled, moving to slide the straps of her dress off her pale shoulders. She turned so he could unzip her and then let the garment slide to the floor, where it lay in a little pooled heap. She turned to face him, wearing nothing but her tiny lace knickers. He cupped her face gently with his hand and brought her in for a slow, passionate kiss, his tongue freely exploring the inside of her mouth. His other hand drifted to her waist, where he let it rest for a moment before sliding down to cup her bum and draw her closer to him.

Alba slid one hand between them to stroke him through his trousers, his arousal evident between them. “Now who’s wearing too many clothes?” she teased, running her tongue across his teeth.

“Why don’t you take them off then?” he suggested.

She smiled, and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers moved slowly and methodically, down to the last button. She slid the shirt from his shoulders, and helped him pull his arms through the sleeves. Pulling him closer by the waistband of his trousers, she moved to pull the single button through its hole before sliding his zipper down. He stepped out of the trousers, and stood before her in only his pants.

“Looking good,” she purred, resting a hand on his surprisingly muscular chest.

“You too,” he said thickly, running a hand through her hair.

“Well,” she said, mouth quirking. “What are you waiting for?”

He grinned wolfishly at her before pulling her down onto the bed with him. They fell in a tangle of limbs, mouths pressed tightly together, hands roaming each other’s body urgently. Alba straddled the Doctor, placing one knee on either side of his hips. He thrust his pelvis up at her as they continued kissing. She broke the kiss, and moved to nibble gently on his ear, to which he moaned appreciatively, letting his hands come to rest on her hips. Her hair tickled softly against his chest as she moved to kiss the curve of his jaw, then the hollows of his collarbone. Her fingers circled his nipples, pinching and pulling them until they were hard. She dropped her lips to his chest and sucked his left nipple into her mouth, rolling it around on her tongue. She nipped him gently, which elicited another soft groan from him. Moving to his other nipple, she laved it with her tongue before nibbling experimentally on it.

“You’re a tease, woman,” he said breathlessly as she slid off of him.

She laughed, and fingered the waistband of his pants. “Lose these.”

The Doctor wasted no time shedding his pants before laying back down against the bed. He stared up at Alba expectantly. She smiled and moved between his legs, lowering her head so that she was hovering over his throbbing erection. She licked a wet stripe down his shaft before taking him into her mouth, gripping the base of his cock in one of her hands. She stroked upwards as she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, and his breathing quickened. 

“You...are criminally good at that,” he panted when she came up for air.

She climbed over his legs and laid next to him on the bed before shimmying out of her knickers. “I want you inside me,” she growled, guiding his hand to the apex of her thighs so he could feel how wet she was. He brushed his thumb lightly across her clit, causing her to inhale sharply. The Doctor flipped over and moved to straddle Alba, positioning himself at her entrance. He rubbed his cock teasingly against her before thrusting up inside of her. Bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders, he settled into a slow but steady rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his waist and placed her hands on his shoulders, forcing him in deeper.

“Harder,” she urged him breathlessly, running her nails down his spine. The Doctor pounded into her fervently, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Beneath him, Alba shuddered in the throes of her orgasm.

“I’m going to come,” he groaned against the side of her neck. She tightened around him in response, and he quickened his pace. With a strangled cry, he emptied himself into her and collapsed, panting.

Alba sighed contentedly. “That never gets old.”

“Mmmm,” the Doctor mumbled, rolling onto his side to lay next to her. She rested her head on his chest, and he draped his arm around her, drawing her close.

“Promise me we’ll still have sex like this when we’re married,” Alba said

The Doctor chuckled. “Oh, I think we’ll manage. Besides, I can hardly keep my hands off you., you’re just so irresistable. In fact, give me a couple of minutes and we can go again.”

“Insatiable much?” Alba asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, absolutely. But only when it comes to you, for some reason,” the Doctor said, rubbing her shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you say that,” she said, reaching out for his hand. She twined her fingers through his and squeezed gently. He kissed the top of her head and snuggled her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. They lay like that for a few minutes before the Doctor let the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Alba drift down below her waist, where he parted her thighs and began to lazily thumb her clit. She sucked in a breath and grew tense against him.

“I think I’m going to go down on you,” he said casually.

“Oh?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he said, moving to position himself between her legs.

It wasn’t long before the Doctor had Alba screaming.

*****

Later that night, the Doctor was staring up at the canopy of the bed, Rose snoring softly next to him. For whatever reasons, sleep eluded him, and he’d been staring up at the canopy, studying the patterns in it for over an hour now. But who was he kidding? He knew the reasons he wasn’t sleeping. His nerves were shot, with the wedding now only two days away. He couldn’t help but feeling like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was expecting some sort of stunt by Harry and Rani, though he couldn’t imagine what it might be. If they didn’t try something to embarrass or undermine him, he’d honestly be surprised.

That night after they’d all had dinner, Harry had confronted him about Rose, claiming he knew she’d come from the slave exchange. He still didn’t know how Harry had come by his information, but it worried him. What if Harry tried to expose him? He knew he was probably worrying for nothing-even if Harry did try to expose him, there was no proof or evidence. And the general public had no knowledge of the vortex manipulator, and without that particular element, the story was far from plausible. Still, he didn’t need Harry telling stories at his wedding, stirring the pot, as it were. Although, storytelling somehow didn’t seem like Harry’s style. Harry was more devious, more clandestine than simply telling a tale.

It was still nagging at him though how Harry had known where Rose had come from. How was that even possible? He’d left from his house to go to New London on New Earth, so no one would know he was leaving. The only time he’d been anywhere remotely public was the slave exchange, which was hardly an out in the open affair, as it was hidden underground. With Jack and himself being the only one’s with access to the vortex manipulator, he didn’t see how Harry could’ve known where he’d been. It wasn’t as if Harry could’ve seen him there, after all. Unless...and he suddenly had a thought that chilled him. The prototype. It was supposed to be locked in a secure lab. Key words being ‘supposed to be’. The Doctor sat bolt upright, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Quickly, he found his clothing on the floor and began dressing. That done, he went to his dresser and pulled the vortex manipulator out of its hiding spot. Taking a last glance at Rose’s sleeping form, he keyed in the coordinates and pressed the button that triggered dematerialization. With a rush of air, he disappeared from the bedroom.

With a sickening lurch, he found himself outside the lab where they stored the prototype. With trepidation, he retrieved his key card from his pocket and swiped it to gain access to the lab. The door glided open silently, and he stepped inside, squinting in the dim moonlight that was streaming through the windows. Reaching out blindly, he flipped the light switch, flooding the room with bright, artificial light. Nervously, he made his way across the room to the locked cabinets where they stored prototypes, already suspecting what he might find. He fumbled through his pockets, searching for his key ring. Hands shaking, he unlocked the cabinet and peered inside. The box for the vortex manipulator was sitting on a shelf above his head. He reached up and grasped the box, sliding it carefully across the shelf. Holding it against his body, he opened the box and had his suspicions confirmed.

The vortex manipulator was gone.


	27. A Grand Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding day has finally arrived.

Alba woke to the morning light streaming through the window. Her stomach flip flopped nervously. Today was the day. The wedding was finally here. She glanced over at the bed next to her and found it empty, save a note.

_Good morning gorgeous!_

_I can scarcely believe the day is finally upon us. I’ve gone ahead to make sure things are settled at the wedding venue. Jack will be by to pick you up around noon. Please be showered and ready to go for him._

_-The Doctor_

Like the Doctor himself, the note was brief and to the point. She was only mildly disappointed that he’d left before she’d woken up, knowing she would be seeing him soon enough. She glanced at the bedside clock, which read 8:36. So much time to kill. She had over three hours to become even more nervous than she was already. By the time Jack arrived, she’d likely be a basket case. Steeling herself, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Standing, she yawned and stretched, arching her back like a cat. She found the Doctor’s house coat on the floor and slid it on. The garment dwarfed her, but she didn’t care. It smelled comfortingly of him. She made her way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

The kettle was already out and full of water, sitting on the stove. The tea and sugar were out on the counter. She smiled. The Doctor had known she’d want a cup of tea when she woke up. She turned the stove on, and began heating the water. Lost in her thoughts, she drifted aimlessly around the kitchen, touching knobs and rearranging things to keep her hands busy. The kettle whistled shrilly, pulling her out of her reverie. She poured and fixed her tea before taking a seat at the dining room table. In front of her, on a well-worn sheet of paper, sat her vows. She picked them up with her free hand, smoothing the creases out against the top of the table. She read over them, sounding the words out in her head as the Doctor had taught her, and speaking them out loud for confirmation. Beneath the Gallifreyan text were the Doctor’s neat, precise translations in English.

_These are my solemn vows to you, my most cherished husband_

_To never stand behind or in front of you, but always beside you_

_To laugh with you in times of joy, and cry with you in times of pain_

_To be the suns of your days and the moon of your nights_

_To be your shelter from the storm and the chaos_

_To be your fire in the darkness of night_

_To be the one you confide your dreams and fears in_

_To be the one who props you up when you are weary and comforts you when you are sick_

_To walk with you forever as my life’s companion and most trusted friend_

_Now what we have joined let no person tear asunder_

_For we shall live in love together for the rest of our days_

He had figured that knowing what the vows meant would help her to memorize them. She didn’t know if it had helped or not, but she still felt fairly confident in her ability to recite the right words when the time came. For weeks, she had been practicing them with the Doctor in preparation for the big day. Now that the time was here, though she was nervous, she actually felt ready. Luckily, the vows were relatively simple and easy to remember.

With a gulp, she finished the last of her tea. She pushed up her sleeves, rinsed her mug in the sink and set it to dry in the drainboard. She glanced at the oven clock-it was only 9:07. Hardly any time had passed at all. Sighing, she made her way to the bathroom to shower. Purple, blue, and green light from the stained glass window dappled the stone floor in intricate patterns. She flicked on the light and removed the Doctor’s housecoat, leaving it to hang from a hook on the back of the door. In the mirror she watched herself, wondering when the girl she had only so recently been had turned into the young woman staring back at her with anxious eyes. She traced her hairline with a finger, making her way down to the curve of her jaw. Surely, the experience of the past however many weeks hadn’t aged her that much?

She cranked the shower on, letting the hot water sluice over her body as she remained lost in her thoughts. She wondered what, if anything, would change between herself and the Doctor once they were married. It seemed she had managed to earn his trust in their brief time together, but she sensed that he still had secrets from her. Thinking of the darkness in his eyes, she could only imagine what those secrets might be. She squeezed shampoo into her hands, and began lathering her hair. The familiar action helped to soothe her jangling nerves. She lingered in the shower long after she had finished cleaning herself. By the time she finally turned the water off, the bathroom had filled with steam. She flipped her head over and roughly began toweling her hair dry, wishing that she had a blow dryer. That finished, she slipped the Doctor’s housecoat back on and slid out of the steamy jungle of the bathroom.

In the bedroom, she idly flicked through the hangers in the closet, searching for something simple to wear. She finally settled on a black and white polka dot dress that cut off right above her knees. She didn’t figure she’d be wearing it long anyway. After she had dressed, she made her way to the living room, where she spent some time browsing the myriad of books on the shelves. Nothing jumped out at her, and she folded herself onto the couch with a heavy sigh. The next thing she knew, Jack was gently shaking her awake.

“Oh, thank God you’re here. I was starting to go mental all by my lonesome,” she said, her voice tinged with relief.

“Plenty of time to get your nerves all riled up, huh?” he asked.

“Apparently,” she said dryly.

“Don’t be nervous, girl. You’ve got this. I have faith in you,” Jack said earnestly.

“Well I appreciate that, but I’m still going to be nervous. It’s my wedding day, even if it is nothing like I ever imagined,” she said.

“Well, it’s about time we were heading out. Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she admitted, following him out of the living room. They wound their way down the hallway, into the kitchen, and through the pantry to the long passage that lead into the garage. The gleaming black hover car sat, waiting. Jack opened the door for Alba and helped her climb into the car before making his way around to the driver’s side and climbing in. He pressed a button and the ceiling above them parted, revealing the burnt orange sky. With a roar of the engine, they took off.

“So where are we going, anyway? The Doctor has told me next to nothing about the particulars of the wedding,” Alba commented, toying with the ends of her hair.

“To New London. There’s a very posh hotel there. The ceremony will be in the gardens, and the reception will be in one of the ballrooms,” Jack said.

“Wait, there’s a New London on Gallifrey?” Alba asked, confused.

“Well, sure. Some of the first settlers on Gallifrey were from England. There are a lot of places on Gallifrey named for places on New Earth,” he stated.

Alba mulled this over briefly before asking her next question. “How come I know next to nothing about the wedding but you know all the particulars?”

Jack laughed. “Comes with being the Doctor’s right-hand man, doll. I made many of the wedding arrangements myself, on behalf of the Doctor. That’s why I know so much. I’ve been eating, breathing, and sleeping this wedding for a while now. So if you have any questions, feel free to fire away.”

“Will there be flowers?” Alba asked.

“Oh, yeah. The centerpieces for the reception are all flowers. Delphinium, blue hydrangea, bluestar, blue asters, and of course, orange blossoms. You’ll be carrying a bouquet of blue roses, though,” Jack said.

“So I guess the wedding color is blue then,” Alba stated dryly.

“It’s the Doc’s favorite color,” Jack explained matter of factually.

“Are his parents going to be there?” she queried

“No. His mother is dead and his father is senile,” he said, regret tinging his voice.

“Will anyone from his family be there?” she asked curiously.

“Well, Harry and Rani will be there, although I don’t know that the Doctor quite considers them family. And I believe some of his cousins will be in attendance as well,” he said.

She was disappointed, but not surprised to hear that Harry and Rani would be there. Together as a couple they gave her the heebie jeebies and that was saying something, since working in the shops she had encountered all manner of eccentric people with aplomb. It took a lot to rattle her, but being in the company of the Doctor’s half-brother and his wife had set her on edge. The thought of essentially having to perform in front of them had her stomach back in knots.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, casting a concerned glance back at her.

“I’m just nervous, Jack. I’m not an actress, and I have to put on the performance of a lifetime. I have to convince everyone that I’m Rose Tyler from Gallifrey, not Alba Prentice of New Earth. Everything is on my shoulders. I just don’t want to mess up and give anyone a reason to doubt the Doctor,” she confessed.

“I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better. If it helps, I have faith in you, and so does the Doctor,” he said earnestly.

“Thanks. I suppose it does help, at least a little bit,” she replied.

The rest of the ride passed by in relative silence as sloping mountains and silver-leafed trees gave way to soaring skyscrapers and sprawling cityscape. Jack hummed softly along with the radio as he drove. About fifteen minutes after they’d flown into the city, Jack landed the hover car in the hotel’s underground car park. They got out and took the elevator up to the hotel lobby, where they were greeted by a lithe woman with brown hair and dark eyes.

“You must be Rose. I’m Leela, the event coordinator. We’re running right on schedule, so let me get you down to the dressing room to get your hair and makeup done,” the woman said as they walked. Alba looked back helplessly at Jack as the woman guided her by the elbow down a long hallway.

Jack waved goodbye. “I’ll see you in a few hours, doll.” 

They arrived at the dressing room, where two women sat waiting on a loveseat. They both stood when Alba and Leela entered the room.

“Tegan, Sarah Jane, this is our blushing bride, Rose,” Leela said.

“Pleased to meet you,” they replied in unison. Alba shook each of their hands in turn.

“We’ll do your hair first,” one of the women said, patting a chair. Alba took a seat. “What were you thinking you wanted to do for your hair?”

“Well, I don’t properly know. I hadn’t given it any thought. What do you think?” Alba asked, hands folded in her lap.

“I think it’d look lovely in a side braid. We can try that, and if you don’t like it I can take it down and start over,” the woman said primly.

“Okay. Whatever you think is best,” Alba replied, relaxing in the chair as the woman began to gather up her hair. On the loveseat across from them, the makeup artist managed to intently file her nails and look bored at the same time. Alba felt her hair being pulled, twisted, and pinned into submission. This went on for nearly half an hour.

“What do you think?” the hair stylist finally asked, holding up a mirror so Alba could look.

“Yeah, it looks nice. I like it. Thank you…” Alba said, floundering for the woman’s name.

“Sarah Jane,” the hair stylist supplied.

“Thank you, Sarah Jane. It’s lovely,” Alba said sincerely.

“Alright Tegan, she’s all ready for you,” Sarah Jane said, flitting away.

Tegan heaved a silver case with her over to the chair. She set it on the end table next to them, and popped it open, revealing the tools of her trade. “I was thinking a dark, smoky eye and a dramatic red lip, a hint of rouge on the cheeks. What do you think?”

“Sounds good, yeah,” Alba nodded agreeably.

“I think you’re one of the easiest clients I’ve ever had,” Tegan remarked as she smoothed foundation over Alba’s face with her fingertips.

“Oh. Well thank you, I guess,” Alba replied offhandedly. The makeup artist worked in silence, alternating between using her fingers and her brushes for application. She had a light hand, and Alba barely felt her working.

“Finished. Take a look,” Tegan said, handing Alba the mirror. 

Alba sucked in a breath, startled at her own transformation. The makeup was flawless, and made her look very much the proper adult. She scarcely recognized the face peering back at her. “It’s positively glamorous, Tegan. Thank you.”

Tegan beamed at her. “It was a pleasure. You have such lovely, porcelain skin. You’ll make a beautiful bride.”

Just then, a knock came on the door. “It’s Jessuro,” called the voice on the other side of the door.

“Come in,” Alba called back. The door opened, and Jessuro bustled in, several garment bags thrown over her arms.

“Oh girl, you look like a starlet. But the classy kind, not the trampy kind,” Jessuro said with a smile.

Alba laughed, disarmed. “Well that’s an odd compliment, but I’ll take it.”

“We’re going to head out. Good luck today, darling,” Sarah Jane said. Tegan blew her a kiss and ducked out the door.

“Well the ladies certainly outdid themselves. You look smashing,” Jessuro reiterated, unpacking the clothes from their bags. “Are you nervous?”

“I’ve never been more nervous in my life,” Alba said with a chuckle.

“Well you wouldn’t know by looking at you. Let’s get you dressed. The ceremony will be starting soon,” Jessuro said.

Alba quickly divested herself of her clothing, letting it fall to the floor. With quick and clever hands, Jessuro helped her into her bridal undergarments before having her step into the gown. Carefully, Jessuro laced and tightened the bodice and then busied herself fluffing the skirt. Only the veil and shoes remained. Jessuro had Alba sit so she could help her into the shoes and carefully pin the veil to the back of her head. Standing back, she admired her work.

“So what say you girl. You ready to get married?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“I’m ready now. Thank you, Jessuro,” Alba said earnestly, getting back to her feet.

“Wait here. I’ll let them know you’re ready,” Jessuro said, slipping out the door. Alba stood and paced around the room, unsure of what to do with herself. Several minutes later, Jessuro returned to the room with Jack by her side.

“You look amazing, kiddo. The Doctor is a lucky man,” Jack said with a wide grin. He handed her a bouquet of blue roses and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

“I suppose so,” Alba said, taking his arm. He lead her back down the hallway to a set of French doors. Through the glass, she could see an unnerving number of people sitting in white chairs, waiting. Further up, she saw the Doctor, dressed in a tuxedo and standing with his hands behind his back. She swallowed, hard. Seeing him standing there waiting made it all suddenly feel very real. Heart pounding, she took several deep breaths in an effort to calm her breathing.

“Alright. Let’s do this,” Jack said, opening the door. Music, whatever passed for a Gallifreyan wedding march, tinkled softly in the background as Jack and Alba made their way down the aisle. Alba kept her vision trained firmly ahead of her, to avoid looking directly at the crowd. At the corners of her eyes, she saw the tell tale flash of a camera. When they reached the Doctor, Jack let go of her arm and and went to stand by him. Shakily, she turned her gaze to the Doctor, who offered her a small smile in return. She hardly heard the officiant do the greeting and opening blessing, though both of these were in English.

“Now James and Rose, together you will light this candle, as a symbol of your unity,” the officiant said, handing each of them a lit candle. Together they moved forward, holding their flames to the unlit candle in unison before setting them down on the table. They resumed their original positions on either side of the officiant.

The officiant first lead the Doctor through the recitation of his vows before turning to Alba. “Now Rose, please repeat after me.”

Alba swallowed nervously, but found that the words came to her easily. She recited her vows in a clear and strong cadence, her voice never faltering, her gaze never leaving the Doctor. When she finished, she let go an imperceptible sigh of relief.

“May the most you wish for be the least you get. May your troubles be less and your blessings be more, and nothing but happiness come through your door. May your right hand always be stretched out in friendship and never in want. May the roof over your head never fall in, and the friends gathered below it never fall out. Now, in the presence of your family and friends, I pronounce you what your hearts have known you to be, husband and wife. James, you may kiss your bride,” the officiant said.

The Doctor leaned forward and cupped Alba’s chin in his hand, drawing her in for a soft and tender kiss. The crowd broke out in applause and cheers, and his hands drifted to rest on her waist. Behind them, the camera flashed endlessly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. James McCrimmon!” the officiant cried enthusiastically when they broke their kiss.

Together, they turned to face the crowd, smiling. Alba looked out on the sea of unfamiliar faces and clutched the Doctor’s hand tightly. Whoever these people were, they seemed genuinely happy. She wasn’t surprised to notice that the only two people in the audience who didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves were Harry and Rani. Pushing them to the back of her mind, she let the Doctor lead her back down the aisle and through the French doors.

“Oh Rose, you’ve never looked lovelier,” the Doctor said, beaming.

“You’re looking devastatingly handsome yourself, husband,” she said, poking her tongue through her teeth at him.

“Well the easy part is over. The hard part will be dealing with all the well wishers,” he sighed. 

“Well, I’ll let you do most of the talking. Hopefully, no one will be in too nosey a mood. If anything, they’ll probably be asking when we plan on having children,” she said.

“Well at least we can answer that one honestly,” he said, his lips quirking up in a smile.

“Yeah,” she said, grinning back at him.

“We’ve got a few minutes before they’ll expect us in the ballroom. Let’s disappear,” he suggested.

“Okay,” she said, letting him pull her down the hallway and into the dressing room. Together, they collapsed onto the loveseat, laughing.

The Doctor smiled at her. “I just wanted a moment alone with you before we venture out into the fray. I’ll have to share you with the rest of them then...and I don’t want to,” he confessed.

“I don’t want to share you, either. But we’ll be alone again in a few hours,” she said.

“Not soon enough,” he said plaintively.

“So...Jamie,” she said, drawing his name out. “Where are you taking me on our honeymoon?”

“God, I love it when you say my name. Do it again,” he said.

“Jamie,” she said, letting it roll off her tongue. “Where are you taking me on our honeymoon, Jamie?”

“So... all of time and space, everything that ever happened or ever will - where do you want to start?” he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Anywhere?” she questioned.

“Anywhere,” he affirmed.

“Can we go to New Earth? To see my mother?” she asked.

The Doctor pulled a face. “That doesn’t sound particularly romantic.”

“You said anywhere,” she reminded him.

“Yes...I did,” he acquiesced. “I will take you to see your mother. But first, I want to take you somewhere fantastic. So Rose...where do you want to go?”

She pondered this thoughtfully. “All of time and space, eh? I wouldn’t even know where to begin, the past or the future. But you, you’ve travelled before. Surely you can think of somewhere fantastic to take me?”

“Oh, I’m sure I could come up with something. Let me think about it and get back to you later,” he said.

“We should probably be getting back,” she said regretfully.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agreed, taking her hand and pulling her up from the loveseat. “Let’s go face the music, shall we, wife?”

“We shall, husband,” she said, linking her arm with his. Together, they made their way back down the hallway to the ballroom. They paused outside the doors.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” she replied, nodding.

The Doctor pushed the door open and they were met with more applause and cheers when they entered the room. The Doctor steered Alba across the floor to their table, where he pulled out her chair. Standing, he addressed the crowd.

“Rose and I would like to thank you all for being here today. It means so much to us that you can join in our celebration. So please eat, drink, and be merry,” he said, taking his seat. Some people took this invitation to visit the sumptuous buffet laid out on tables against the walls. Others visited the bar in the farthest corner of the room. Still, even more people filtered over to the table to congratulate them. After a while, the faces started blurring together. Alba kept up a cheerful but demure smile, and let the Doctor do the talking. Eventually, Harry and Rani approached the table.

“Congratulations on carrying off the charade,” Harry said frostily.

“I’m quite certain I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Doctor replied evenly.

Rani sneered at them. “We know where your wife is really from. As if her mediocre Gallifreyan didn’t give it away.”

“Well growing up in an orphanage, she didn’t have access to the best education. You can’t hold that against her,” the Doctor said, his voice like steel.

“An orphanage. Right. Sure,” Harry said sarcastically.

“If you have something to say, Harry, I suggest you say it,” the Doctor said threateningly.

Harry considered this. “Congratulations,” he said finally.

“What?” the Doctor asked in disbelief.

“You heard me, you knob. Congratulations. And goodbye,” he said, disappearing with Rani at his side.

“Well that was weird,” Alba commented.

“I don’t like it,” the Doctor said darkly. “He’s got something up his sleeve, guaranteed. I’m pretty sure he stole the vortex manipulator from my lab.”

“What?” Alba asked, shock written across her face. “When did that happen?”

“I don’t know when it went missing. The sign-out log was empty, and so was the box for the vortex manipulator. I know it was Harry, I just can’t prove it,” he said with a frown.

“Well, we’ve got to do something,” Alba said.

“I know. But I’ll be damned if I know what that something is, exactly,” he said.

“Is there anyway you could like..I don’t know, trace a signal or something to figure out where it went?” she asked hopefully.

“I could use the sonic to tune into the same frequency as the vortex manipulator, trace it that way. But all that would do is give us the last coordinates it travelled to, which doesn’t necessarily help prove who took it,” he said glumly.

“Yeah, but it’s better than nothing. When can you do it?” she asked urgently.

“I could do it right now and no one would be the wiser,” he said conspiratorially.

“Well go on then. What are you waiting for?” she said.

The Doctor took the sonic screwdriver out of his breast pocket and fiddled with the settings. Holding it up to his ear, he listened. After a moment, he slid the screwdriver back in his pocket with a look of consternation on his face.

“What? What is it? Where did it go?” she asked, dread in her voice.

“New Earth,” he said faintly. “So that confirms it. That’s how Harry knew where you came from. He must have stolen the vortex manipulator and somehow followed me to New Earth. But if he did that...that must mean he’s figured out how to track the signal of my vortex manipulator.”

“Well, shit,” Alba said, at loss for anything else to say.

“Yeah, many things about this are not good,” the Doctor said worriedly.

“Doctor...Jamie. The first time I met Harry, I thought he looked familiar. But I couldn’t place him. Do you think maybe he could’ve had something to do with me ending up in the slave exchange?” she asked anxiously.

“I honestly don’t know, Rose, but it turns my guts cold just thinking about it. What motivation could he possibly have to do that? Unless...unless he always meant for us to meet. But why? Oh my God...because he knew how much you looked like my wife. It had to be intentional,” the Doctor said.

Alba swallowed. “Do you really think Harry could’ve been the one who kidnapped me?”

“Well, it makes sense. Sort of. But I honestly don’t know. And it’s not like he’ll admit to having anything to do with the disappearance of the vortex manipulator,” the Doctored stated matter of factually.

“There’s got to be something we can do. You’re a chemist, isn’t there some kind of truth serum?” she questioned.

“Oh, I’m so thick! Purple truth sage, of course!” the Doctor said, pounding his fist against the table. “Rose, you’re brilliant.”

“Purple truth sage? What’s that even mean?” Alba asked, confused.

“It means,” the Doctor said, eyes twinkling, “That it’s about time we had Harry and Rani over for dinner again.”

“So is purple truth sage like a truth serum then?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. And if we time it right, have a late dinner, I can dose him that night and confront him the next morning at work. He won’t be able to help it, he’ll have to tell the truth then. And if I get him to confess where he hid the vortex manipulator, even better,” the Doctor said, sounding immensely more cheerful.

“And now, it’s time for the happy couple’s first dance!” the DJ announced.

Alba cast a sidelong glance at the Doctor, thinking the timing couldn’t be any worse. Still, she let him lead her to the dance floor as the first strains of Etta James’ “At Last” played over the speakers. 

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered smoothly in her ear, placing his arm around her waist. Easily, they glided across the dance floor together, falling into a perfect rhythm. Alba rested her head on the Doctor’s shoulder, and he planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

 _”My heart was wrapped up in clover, the night I looked at you,”_ Alba sang softly. The Doctor tilted her head up and brought his lips to her own, kissing her hungrily.

“Cheeky, cheeky,” she breathed into his mouth. “What will your great aunt Amelia think?”

“Fuck great aunt Amelia,” he growled under his breath, bringing her in for another kiss.

*****

After the last guest had filtered out of the ballroom, the Doctor and Alba retired to their room for the night. The benefit of hosting the wedding at a posh hotel was getting to stay in the honeymoon suite afterwards. The Doctor peeled himself out of his tuxedo before unlacing Alba’s bodice, freeing her from the stiff prison of the dress. She shimmied out of her complicated undergarments, and dove naked onto the gigantic bed. 

“Care to join me?” she said, patting the bed next to her.

The Doctor grinned, and took his pants off before diving onto the bed next to her. “So what do you say? You want to consummate this marriage?”

“Yes, please,” she said, nodding vigorously.

So they did. Several times.


	28. Impossible Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly weds return home, and do what newly weds do. The Doctor reveals one of his greatest secrets.

The Doctor awoke to sunlight streaming through the window, and Alba curled against him, her head resting on his shoulder. He smiled fondly at her, and moved to brush a strand of hair out of her face. She stirred against him and blinked, clearing the sleep from her eyes.

“Hello, husband,” she said softly, smiling back at him.

“Good morning wife,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips. She melted against him, sighing softly.

“So...now what do we do?” she asked him, draping her arm across his torso.

“I told you I’d take you somewhere amazing. That’s still the plan,” he said lightly.

“What about Harry?” she questioned in response.

“What about him?” the Doctor said, quirking his eyebrows. “We’ve got time travel at our disposal. We could lark about for months, and still be back in time for tea. Harry can wait. We just got married, I want to enjoy that for a little bit before I have to start worrying about plotting against my own brother.”

“Fair enough,” Alba said. “So where are we going?”

“Ah, now that part is a surprise,” the Doctor answered. “First, we’ve got to go home and change. Jack will pick up our stuff from here. We can take the vortex manipulator so we won’t have to drive. It’s not far anyway, but why go the long way when you’ve got a shortcut available?”

“Well alright then. Lets not waste time,” she said, getting out of the bed. She picked up her knickers from the floor and slipped them back on. Looking at the Doctor, her lips quirked. “I suppose I’m ready, since I’m not getting back into that bodice or dress.”

“Yes well, luckily this method of travel is clothing optional,” he said, getting up. He pulled the vortex manipulator and sonic screwdriver out of his jacket pocket and went to join Alba.

“Shall we?” he asked, strapping the vortex manipulator to his wrist.

“Indeed we shall,” Alba replied, linking her arm with his.

“Hold on tight,” he advised, pressing the button. They winked out of the hotel room with a soft _whoosh_ of air, and rematerialized in the library of the city flat.

“A bit rough, isn’t it?” Alba said, stumbling towards the loveseat.

“Yeah, sorry,” the Doctor said apologetically, taking a seat next to her. “It does take some getting used to. Thankfully, I have a more...reliable form of transport to get us to our next destination.”

“How do you mean?” she asked curiously.

The Doctor smiled. “You’ll see soon enough. First, we need to shower and get dressed. Would you care to join me up in the master bath? Strictly in the interest of conserving water, of course.”

“Yeah, right,” Alba said, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, so maybe my motives aren’t _entirely_ pure. Can’t blame a bloke for trying,” he chuckled. “All the same...I’d love it if you’d join me for a shower.”

“Lead the way, Mr. McCrimmon,” she said.

Smiling, the Doctor tugged her up from the loveseat and guided her out of the library and down the hall to the closet. They slipped through the coats and he keyed in the door code. The wall in front of them slid open silently, granting them access. Together, they bounded up the stairs, stopping on the landing so the Doctor could sonic the door to his bedroom.

He wasted no time tugging Alba across the room and into the en suite. She shivered lightly as her feet hit the cool tile floor. The Doctor slid open the shower’s glass door and leaned in to turn the water on full blast. She slipped her knickers down her hips, letting them fall to the floor.

“After you,” he said, tilting his head towards the shower. He gave her bum a light smack as she passed him.

“Oi!” she exclaimed, almost stumbling and laughing.

“What? I can’t help it, it was right there in front of me,” he replied, ducking into the shower behind her. He slid the door closed and joined her under the tumbling cascade of hot water. “You’ve got a very nice bum.”

“Your’s isn’t so bad, either, Mister,” she said, gliding her hands down his sides to cup his arse, pushing them closer together.

The Doctor sighed happily, letting his hands come to rest on her hips as his lips sought out her own, finding them and pressing tightly and eagerly against them. She tilted her head up, deepening the kiss as her grip on his arse tightened.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing that,” he murmured, stroking his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of letting you do that,” she replied, reaching up to hold his hand against her cheek.

“The curves of your lips rewrite history,” he said with a smile.

“You’re such a romantic,” she teased back.

“Ah, I can’t take credit for that. It’s Oscar Wilde,” he replied, pushing her hair out of the way so he could press a kiss to her collarbone. “I’m a scientist, not a wordsmith.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said, letting her tongue poke between her teeth as she looked up at him.

“Right,” he said abruptly, breaking their embrace and reaching for the recessed alcove where the soap sat. “Time to get clean. Turn around, I’ll wash your back.”

Obediently, Alba turned her back on the Doctor. She felt him glide the bar of soap across her shoulders and down her spine, the tips of his fingers brushing gently against her skin as he went, causing her to shiver. He paused briefly when he reached her lower back before moving to skate the soap across her bum and down the backs of her thighs with a less than innocent touch. Reaching around her, he ran the soap first up her left leg, then the right. The soap and his fingers trailed across her belly, sliding up her torso, between her breasts, and across her collarbones before slipping down each of her arms. He set the soap back in its little alcove before allowing his hands to settle on her hips. His breath on the back of her neck was cool in the steamy jungle of the shower, while her own breath was caught in her throat. Lazily, his hands drifted up her body, rubbing in slow, smooth circles as he went, leaving a trail of soapy bubbles in his wake. He caressed her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they were hard and aching. He stepped closer to her, his arousal pressing insistently against her bottom as his hands continued to roam her body, mapping her lush curves. She wriggled against him, which caused him to elicit a low, throaty growl. One of his hands dipped below her navel, tugging through her curls even as the other hand continued to fondle each of her breasts in turn. He parted her thighs with his hand and began to stroke lightly between her folds.

“God, you’re so wet,” he breathed.

“We’re in the shower,” she panted in return.

“You know what I meant,” he said, slipping two fingers inside of her while he continued to thumb her clit. This went on for several minutes until Alba was drawn as taut as a piano string.

“Jamie...need you...inside of me,” she gasped, leaning back and grinding against his erection. His fingers stopped what they were doing as he pushed her against the wall, pinning her arms above her head. She spread her legs, and felt him nudging against her before pushing up and into her tight, wet heat. The two of them groaned in unison as he began to thrust, pounding into her with smooth, even strokes. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, along with their gasps and moans, echoed through the shower.

“I’m going to come,” she rasped shakily.

“Please do,” he grunted in her ear, his grip on her wrists tightening. A strangled cry escaped him as her muscles fluttered and clenched tightly around him, tumbling him over the edge with her. He emptied himself into her with a breathless sigh before withdrawing, leaving her flattened against the wall, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

“So that’s why you wanted me to come shower with you,” she said wryly, turning from the tiled wall to face him. “Mr. McCrimmon, you are insatiable.”

“I rather think it’s a two way street, Rose,” he returned, quirking his eyebrows at her.

“We came here to get clean and instead we got dirty,” she said with a chuckle.

“Well, _you_ are clean. Mostly,” he said, amusement glinting in his eyes.

She elbowed him playfully. “Suppose so. I guess I’ll just rinse off and let you finish up yourself. I have a feeling if I stay here, nobody is going to get any cleaner,” she said.

“Probably not,” he agreed, steering her under the stream of water and picking up the bar of soap.

Alba took her time rinsing off. The hot water felt delicious trickling over muscles that were more sore than she had realized. The Doctor was vigorously soaping himself up, humming under his breath. She leaned forward and captured his roving hands, holding him still so she could lean up on her toes and kiss him.

“See you later,” she said, rocking back on her heels.

“You’ll need the door code. One-zero-two-three,” he recited to her. “Oh! And wear something comfortable.”

Alba stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She patted herself dry before wrapping her hair up. Grabbing another towel to wrap around her body, she made her way out of the en suite, out of the bedroom and down the stairs. She punched in the door code and slipped into the closet and back through the coats. The door to her bedroom stood open, and she stepped inside.

“Something comfortable,” she repeated, throwing the doors of her wardrobe open. She thumbed through the clothes, passing up several more elegant and complicated gowns in favor of a simple black v-neck dress. She picked out a lacey black balconette and matching knickers to wear underneath, and simple pair of black flats. Leaving the clothes on the bed, she slipped into her own en suite and began to dry her hair, wondering what the Doctor had in store for them. She misted her body with a sweet, vanilla-scented moisturizer, and dabbed sandalwood perfume on her wrists, in her cleavage, and behind her ears. Satisfied, she returned to the bedroom and quickly dressed. Examining herself in the mirror, she debated putting on makeup. Deciding yes, she padded back into the en suite and rifled through the drawer of cosmetics, selecting a deep red lipstick and dark brown mascara. Several minutes later, she gazed appraisingly at her reflection. Her cheeks were still flushed with warmth from the shower, and her eyes were clear and bright.

“That’ll do,” she said, turning off the lights. She walked back down the hall to the closet, pushed through the coats, and entered the door code. Upstairs, she found the Doctor adjusting the knot on his tie. He beamed at her from across the room, closing the distance between them to rest his hands on her shoulders.

“You look lovely,” he said sincerely, his gaze raking up her body.

“You’re not looking so bad yourself. I have to say, I do love you in pinstripes,” she said, letting her hands come to rest on his lapels.

“So what say you, Rose, are you ready for a little adventure?” he asked, grinning widely at her.

“Why Jamie, I think I am,” she said, linking her arm with his. Together, they came down the stairs, paused so the Doctor could open the door, then slipped back through the coats. Alba was surprised when he lead her up the stairs to his study, the one room he had originally forbade her to enter. She peered at him curiously as he soniced the door open, stepping inside to flick on the lights. The room lit up, revealing a rather average looking office. Except for one thing.

“What’s a police public call box, and why do you have one in your study?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“Back in the 1950s and 60s, on Earth, the original Earth, in London they had police public call boxes. They were little wooden boxes where you could call for help from the police. Sometimes, they would use them to temporarily hold suspects. But this isn’t a police public call box,” he said, sliding a key into the lock.

“So what is it then?” Alba asked, confused.

“Take a look,” he said with a smirk, pushing the door open and coaxing her inside.

Alba gazed around in surprised wonder, not quite believing what she was seeing. Inside the police box was an impossibly large room, dominated by what looked like a console of some sort. A large central column rose up from the middle of the console, stretching all the way to the ceiling Huge, organic looking pillars seemed to support the ceiling of the room, which was curved. Down a set of stairs she spied a doorway, though she couldn’t imagine where it lead. How could this place be any bigger? It was already impossible.

The Doctor shut the doors and stepped up behind. “It’s called the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. This is my ultimate project. No one’s ever seen it but you,” he whispered into her ear.

“What is it?” she asked in awe.

“It’s a time machine,” he said, passing her to stand at the console. “It works on a similar principle to the vortex manipulator, just on a much larger scale. The TARDIS is...well, it’s infinite, basically. Picture the biggest ship you can, and then forget it, because the TARDIS is bigger than that.”

“But...how?” she stammered.

His eyes crinkled. “Trust me, you don’t really want to know. It’s extremely complicated.”

“And you built it?” she said incredulously.

“Something like that,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “That okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, joining him at the console, still not quite believing what she was seeing and hearing. “You never stop surprising me, Doctor. You’re impossible.”

“Not impossible, just a bit unlikely,” he replied, a cat-like grin on his face. “So, you ready to take a ride?”

Alba smiled back at him. “Show me the stars, lover.”

 


	29. The Poet's Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Alba travel back in time to Elizabethan England, and meet a most extraordinary man.
> 
> All recognizable dialogue is from the episode The Shakespeare Code. Obviously, I don't own Doctor Who.

Alba watched the Doctor curiously as he spun around the console, pressing buttons and pulling levers. “You never did say though...why does it look like a police box?” she questioned.

“The chameleon circuit is broken, and I just haven’t gotten around to repairing it. The TARDIS is meant to disguise itself, blend in with wherever it lands. It’s stuck as a police box for now. I don’t know though, I kind of like it this way,” he said casually.

“So why were you in 1950 or 60s London?” she asked.

“Just observing history,” he said, smiling broadly back at her.

“Sure you were,” she replied, her tongue poking between her teeth.

“I was,” he insisted. “I went to see the Beatles perform. It was brilliant. In fact, I might like another go at that sometime in the future. Different year, of course. Wouldn’t want to cross my own timeline.”

“I think I understood at least half of that,” Alba said, laughing.

Around them, the ship shuddered. “Well, we’ve landed. Let’s have a look,” the Doctor said, taking Alba by the hand and leading her back to the doors. “Right out there, brave new world.”

“Where are we then?” she asked.

“Have a look,” the Doctor said, pushing the door open.

Alba stepped out the doors into what looked like an alley. Straw crunched beneath her feet as she gaped in wonder at the sights around her. People in old-fashioned dress bustled around the noisy alley. The Doctor stepped out beside her, closing the doors of the TARDIS behind him.

“Oh my God, we really did it. We traveled in time,” she said breathlessly.

“London, England, Earth. The year is 1599,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down the alley.

“Well hold on. I mean are we safe? Can we move about and all that?” she quizzed.

“Course we can. Why wouldn’t we be able to?” he replied, shooting a curious glance her way.

“Well it’s like in films. You step on a butterfly, you change the history of the human race,” she said.

“Tell you what then, don’t step on any butterflies. What did butterflies ever do to you?” he asked.

“Nothing. This is all just so new to me. I’ve only just started believing in time travel, you know,” she said, still absorbing everything around her.

“If I’m not mistaken, we’re right down the river by Southwark. Come on!” the Doctor exclaimed, tugging Alba along with him.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“There,” he said, pointing at a building off in the distance. “The Globe Theatre. Brand new, it’s only just opened. Technically speaking though, it’s not a globe, it’s a tetradecagon. Fourteen sides. Containing the man himself.”

“You don’t mean…?” Alba questioned, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, yes. The bard himself, William Shakespeare. So what say you, Mrs. McCrimmon? Would you accompany me to the theatre?” he asked, grinning. 

“Mr. McCrimmon, I’d love to,” she replied, linking arms with him. They strolled down the street to the Globe, slipping inside behind a throng of people. They drifted with the pulsing crowd, finding a spot not too far from the stage. Alba was transfixed, watching the movements of the actors in front of them.

“And those are men dressed as women, yeah?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“Yep. Women weren’t permitted to act in these times,” the Doctor answered.

“I want to see Shakespeare. Do you think he’ll come out?” she questioned.

“Hang tight. This play is almost over, he’ll probably come out to take a bow with the actors,” the Doctor replied, squeezing her hand.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the play concluded and all the actors came out onto the stage to take a bow. With them was a bearded man who vaguely resembled the pictures she had seen in history books growing up. Around them, the crowd went wild with applause.

“A total genius. The genius, really. And we’re going to get to hear him speak. He always chooses the best words. Bright, brilliant, beautiful words, the finest poet who ever lived,” the Doctor said almost reverently.

“Ah, shut your big fat mouths!” the bearded man shouted. The audience laughed uproariously, as if this were the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

The Doctor frowned. “Right. Not quite what I was expecting.”

“You should never meet your heroes,” Alba quipped..

“I know what you’re all thinking. Love’s Labours Lost, that’s a strange ending, isn’t it? Will the boys get the girls? Well, don’t go and get your hose in a knot, you’ll find out soon enough. All in good time. You can’t rush a genius,” Shakespeare said haughtily.

“A bit full of himself, isn’t he?” Alba said, looking at the Doctor.

“Well, with good reason,” the Doctor shrugged.

On the stage, Shakespeare suddenly stiffened up. “When you want to know? I’ll tell you when. Tomorrow night, the premiere of my brand new play, a sequel no less. I call it Love’s Labours Won!”

The audience went wild, whooping and shouting. Alba cringed. It was a bit loud. Around them, people began shuffling out of their spots, making their way to the exit. The Doctor stood, pulling her up with him. They followed the crowd to the exit and back out onto the street.

“I’m not exactly a literature buff, but I’ve never heard of Love’s Labours Won,” Alba commented offhandedly as they walked down the street.

“Exactly. The lost play. Scholars have argued about it for years. Many thought it was just an alternate title to one of Shakespeare’s known works, but nobody ever really came to any concrete conclusions,” the Doctor responded.

“Well we’re already here. We might as well stick around, maybe find out what Love’s Labours Won is really about,” Alba said. “You know, observe history and all that.”

The Doctor smiled. “Let’s go find Shakespeare. We can ask him ourselves.”

* * * * *

“Hello! Hope we aren’t interrupting anything. It’s Mister Shakespeare, isn’t it?” the Doctor said, strolling into the room.

“No. No, no, no. No autographs, no you can’t have yourself sketched with me, and don’t ask me where my ideas come from. There’s a good boy now, shove off,” Shakespeare said, irritated. He looked up and caught a glance at Alba, who was standing behind the Doctor. “Hey nonny nonny, sit right down here next to me. You two, off you go. Get sewing on those costumes.”

Shakespeare’s companions got up from the table and made their way to the door, glancing curiously at Alba and the Doctor as they sat themselves down at the table.

“Come on then, lads. I think our William has found his new muse,” the barmaid said, ushering the other two gentlemen out the door.

“Sweet lady, such unusual clothes. So...fitted,” Shakespeare said, his eyes roving across Alba’s body.

The Doctor cleared his throat loudly and fixed his gaze on Shakespeare. “I’m the Doctor, and this is my wife, Rose. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Shakespeare said, his eyes still fixed on Alba. “You’re not from London then, are you?”

“Rose and I are from a far off land. Freedonia,” the Doctor answered.

A well-dressed man with a sour look on his face came pelting into the room. “Excuse me! Hold hard a moment. This is completely unacceptable. A new play, with no warning? I demand to see the script, Mister Shakespeare. As Master of the Revels, all new plays must be registered at my office and examined before they can be performed!” the man exclaimed.

“First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll send it round,” Shakespeare assured the angry man.

“I beg your pardon, but I don’t work to your schedule, _you_ work to mine. The script. Now!” the man demanded, slamming his fist down on the table.

“I’m sorry, Mister Lynley, it’s not ready. I can’t,” Shakespeare said helplessly.

“Than tomorrow’s performance will be cancelled. I’m returning to my office, for a banning order. If it’s the last thing I do, Love’s Labours Won will never be played,” the man said, glowering balefully as he exited the room.

“Well then,” Alba said after Lynley had pounded his way back downstairs. “That’s Love’s Labours Won, over and done with. I kind of expected it be something a bit more mysterious, you know?”

Screams rang out from the courtyard. “Help me!” a woman’s voice cried out.

The three of them stood up abruptly from the table and ran outside to see what the commotion was about. The Master of Revels, Mister Lynley, was staggering about, spewing water from his open mouth.

“What’s wrong with him? Leave it to me, I’m a doctor,” the Doctor said, rushing to Lynley’s side. The Master of Revels spewed more water before falling to his knees and collapsing to the ground. Alba rushed to the Doctor’s side and kneeled beside him, next to the fallen form of Lynley.

“Mister Lynley, we’ve got you. You’re going to be alright,” Alba said. Lynley spewed more water and went still, and she leaned back. “What the hell is that then?”

“I’ve never seen a death like it. His lungs are full of water. And the heart is stopped, as though there were some invisible blow…” the Doctor said, standing up. “Good lady, this poor man has died of a sudden imbalance of the humours. Call for the constable, have him taken away.”

“Yes, sir. Right away,” the barmaid said, running back to the inn. 

A younger woman, presumably a maid, stopped the barmaid. “I’ll do it,” she said with a sweet smile. The barmaid nodded, and went back upstairs to the inn.

The Doctor got back down next to the body and began examining it. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.

“So why’d you tell them that, then? That he died of a sudden imbalance of the humours?” Alba whispered.

“This lot still has one foot in the Dark Ages. It’s an age of religion and superstition. If I tell them the truth, they’ll panic and think it was witchcraft,” the Doctor replied, passing his hand over Lynley’s face to close his eyes.

“Okay. What was it then, if not a sudden imbalance of the humours?” Alba asked.

“Witchcraft,” the Doctor replied quietly, getting to his feet.

* * * * *

Back upstairs in Shakespeare’s room, the three of them sad huddled around the table. A somber mood permeated the space in the wake of the Master of Revels strange death.

The barmaid sashayed into the room. “I got you a room, Doctor. You and your wife are right across the landing.”

“Thank you very much…” the Doctor said, his voice trailing off. He didn’t know the woman’s name.

“Dolly,” the barmaid supplied.

“Thank you very much, Dolly,” the Doctor replied, nodding at the barmaid as she took her leave.

“That poor bastard Lynley,” Shakespeare remarked. “So many strange happenings. Least of all, this land of Freedonia, where a woman can dress so provocatively.”

“Where a woman can do as she pleases,” Alba said, bristling slightly.

“And you, Doctor,” Shakespeare continued. “How can a man so young have eyes so old?”

“I do a lot of reading,” the Doctor replied stiffly.

“A trite reply. Yeah, that’s what I’d do. And you, Rose. You look at him as though you’re surprised he even exists. He’s as much a puzzle to you as he is to me.”

Alba looked down uncomfortably. “I think perhaps we should go to bed. It’s been a long and very strange day,” she said, getting up from the table.

“Go on then. Sleep. I have a play to write. But tomorrow, I shall get answers. Why this constant performance of yours, Doctor,” Shakespeare said.

“All the world’s a stage,” the Doctor replied, trailing to the doorway.

“Hmm, I might have to use that one. Goodnight, Doctor,” Shakespeare responded.

“Goodnight, Will,” the Doctor said softly, taking Alba’s hand.

Together they walked across the landing and to their room. Cautiously, the Doctor pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Well, it’s not exactly posh, is it?” Alba remarked idly.

“We’ll manage,” the Doctor said, flopping down onto the tiny bed. He patted the space next to him, indicating Alba should join him. She took the cue and laid down next to him.

“So. Witchcraft. Magic and stuff. Is it real then?” she asked.

“Of course not,” the Doctor scoffed. “Looks like magic, but it isn’t. Can’t be. There’s such a thing as psychic energy, but a human wouldn’t be able to harness it. Not without a generator the size of Taunton, and I think we would’ve noticed that. There’s just something I’m missing, Rose. Something right in front of my face, but I can’t see it.”

“It’ll come to you,” she replied softly, stroking his cheek. “Sleep on it.”

“I suppose so,” he said, blowing out the burning candle on the nightstand. He drew his arm around Alba and pulled her closer to him. Before long, the two of them were sound asleep.

* * * * *

A shrill scream woke the Doctor and Alba from their peaceful slumber. Glancing at each other, they hopped up from the bed and rushed out the door, towards the source of the sound. They found the barmaid, Dolly, on the floor and a confused looking Shakespeare sitting at the table, still holding his quill.

“What happened? What was that?” Shakespeare asked, sounding slightly dazed.

The Doctor kneeled on the floor next to Dolly and took her pulse. He found nothing. “Her heart gave out. It’s almost as though she died of fright.”

“Doctor,” Alba called from the window.

“What is it? What did you see?” he asked, coming to stand beside her at the window.

“A witch,” she replied shakily.

* * * * *

After the constable had come and removed the poor barmaid’s body, the three of them sat once more around the table.

“Sweet Dolly Bailey. She sat out three bouts of plague at this place while the rest of us scattered like rats. But what could’ve frightened her so? She had such enormous...spirit,” Shakespeare finished lamely.

“Rage, rage, against the dying of the light,” the Doctor said softly.

“I might use that,” Shakespeare said.

“You can’t. It’s someone else’s,” the Doctor replied shortly.

“But here’s the thing. Lynley died on dry land and Dolly died of fright, and both of them were connected to you. That’s got to mean something,” Alba said, leaning forward.

“Are you implying I somehow had something to do with this?” Shakespeare asked, affronted.

“No, but I saw a witch, big as you like, flying away and cackling as she went. And you’ve written about witches,” Alba said.

“Have I? When was that?” Shakespeare questioned, obviously confused.

The Doctor leaned over to whisper in Alba’s ear. “Not quite yet, he hasn’t.”

“Oddly enough though, Peter Streete spoke of witches,” Shakespeare mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“Who’s Peter Streete?” the Doctor asked.

“Our builder,” Shakespeare replied. “The architect of the Globe.”

“The architect. Hold on. The architect! The Globe! Come on!” the Doctor shouted excitedly, jumping to his feet.

Bemused, Alba and Shakespeare followed after him.

* * * * *

“Fourteen sides. I’ve always wondered, but I never asked. Why fourteen sides, Will?” the Doctor asked, standing in the pit of the Globe.

“It was just the shape Peter Streete thought best. He said it carried the sound well,” Shakespeare replied with a shrug.

“Fourteen? Why does that ring a bell? Fourteen…” the Doctor said, running his fingers through his hair and causing it stand up on end.

“There’s fourteen lines in a sonnet,” Alba suggested.

“Excellent point, Rose. Words and shapes following the same pattern. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets. Tetradecagon. Think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines…” the Doctor said, trailing off.

“But this is just a theatre,” Shakespeare insisted.

“Oh yeah, but the theatre’s magic. And you should know. Say the right words in the right place and time, you can make men weep, or cry with joy, or even change them. In this place, you can change people’s minds with just the right words. Exaggerate that though…” the Doctor said, tapping his finger against his chin.

“It’s like your police box. Little wooden box with all that power crammed inside,” Alba said.

The Doctor stopped pacing and shot a sunny grin at Alba. “Oh, my dear. I knew there was a reason I liked you. Tell you what though, I bet Peter Streete would know. Can I speak with him?”

“You could try, but I doubt you’d get an answer. A month after building this place, he lost his mind,” Shakespeare said.

“Why? What happened?” Alba asked curiously.

“Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled,” Shakespeare answered.

“Well where is he now?” the Doctor asked.

“Bedlam,” Shakespeare replied.

“Bedlam?” Alba and the Doctor questioned in unison.

“Bethlem Hospital. The mad house,” Shakespeare clarified.

“Right, then that’s where we’re going. Right now. Come on!” the Doctor clamored.

Shakespeare jumped down from where he was standing on the stage and reached out to help Alba down. “Wait! I’m going with you. I want to witness this first hand,” he said. 

As they were leaving the theatre, they passed two of the actors. Shakespeare stopped, and handed one of the men a sheaf of paper. “Ralph, the last scene, as promised. Copy it, hand it round, learn it, speak it. I’ll be back before curtain’s up tonight. And remember kid, project. Eyes and teeth. You never know who might be watching.”

While the Doctor plowed on with determination, Alba hung back, waiting for Shakespeare.

“So,” he said, walking up beside Alba. “Tell me of this land of Freedonia, where you say a woman can do as she likes.”

“This country’s ruled by a woman,” Alba teased, her tongue poking between her teeth.

“Ah, she’s royalty. That’s God’s business. But you my lady, are a royal beauty,” Shakespeare said, smiling roguishly.

“Hold on there, mate,” Alba said, holding her hand up to stop him. “I know for a fact that you’ve got a wife in the country.”

“But Rose, this is town,” Shakespeare pleaded.

The Doctor turned around, either irritated by the slow progress they were making or by a certain bard hitting on his wife. “Come on then,” he chastised. “We can all have a good flirt later.”

“Is that a promise, Doctor?” Shakespeare asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

The Doctor pulled a face. “Fifty-seven academics just punched the air. Now get a move on!”

* * * * *

Hospital was a loose term for Bedlam. The broken down building looked more like a prison, with the patients confined to barren cells. The whole place stank of urine, excrement, and stale sweat. It was also extremely loud, as it seemed the entire populace of the building was screaming or crying out in desperation.

“Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits? I could whip these madmen. They’ll put on a good show for you,” the hospital aid said.

“No, I don’t want any entertainment!” the Doctor growled in response.

“Well then. Please wait here my lords, while I make him decent for the lady,” the aide said, leaving them to stand in a cluster in the hallway.

“You call this a hospital?” Alba said scornfully, turning to look at Shakespeare. “Where the patients are whipped to amuse the gentry. And you let them put your friend in here?”

“Oh, it’s all so different in Freedonia,” Shakespeare replied, flapping his hand dismissively.

“But you’re smart. You can’t honestly believe this place is any good,” Alba persisted.

“I’ve been mad. I’ve lost my mind before. The fear of this place set me right. It serves its purpose,” Shakespeare replied.

“Mad in what way?” Alba asked.

“You lost your son,” the Doctor interjected.

“My only boy. The Black Death took him, and I wasn’t even there,” Shakespeare said despondently.  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Alba said softly, laying her hand on Shakespeare’s shoulder in an effort to comfort him.

“It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be, or not to be… Hold on, that’s quite good,” Shakespeare mused.

“You should write that down,” the Doctor said helpfully.

“This way, my lords,” the aid beckoned from down the hall. They wound their way down the hall to the open cell. “Be careful, my lords. They can be dangerous. Don’t know their own strength.”

“I think it helps if you don’t whip them. Now get the hell out!” the Doctor roared at the aid. The aid shrank back and exited the cell, closing the door behind him.

Shakespeare and Alba hung back as the Doctor approached Peter. He crouched down on his heels next to the shaking mad man.

“Peter, I’m the Doctor. I’m here to help,” he said gently, placing his hands on the other man’s shoulders. Peter stared back at him, uncomprehending. “You’ve got to go back, into the past. Go back one year. Everything that happened to you, that happened to someone else. It’s just a story, a winter’s tale. That’s it, just let go. Let go.”

The Doctor coaxed Peter to lay back onto his cot, and then continued talking quietly to him. “Tell me the story, Peter. Tell me about the witches.”

“Witches spoke to Peter. Whispering, in the night. Got Peter to build the Globe, to their design. The fourteen walls, always fourteen. When the work was done, they broke poor Peter’s wits,” the mad man croaked.

“Peter, now listen to me, this is important. Where did you see the witches? Where in the city?” the Doctor prodded.

“All Hallows Street,” Peter wheezed.

Just then, the air in the cell shifted. All of them except for Peter looked up in shock as a lank-haired old woman with serpentine eyes and a large, hawkish nose appeared in the cell.

“Too many words,” she hissed sibilant.

“Oh my God, what the hell is _that_?” Alba shrieked, pointing at the old woman.

“Just one touch,” the old woman said triumphantly, leaning forward and pressing her finger against Peter’s chest. Peter gasped and grew still.

“No!” the Doctor cried. “You didn’t have to kill him!”

“Witch! I’m seeing a witch!” Shakespeare exclaimed.

“Now who would be next? Just...one...touch. Oh, I’ll stop your frantic hearts, poor, fragile mortals,” she rasped, holding her finger up.

“Let us out! Oh my God, let us out!” Alba shouted.

“Well that’s no good, Rose. The whole building is shouting that,” the Doctor admonished.

“Which of you will be the first to die?” the old woman cackled.

“Well, if you’re looking for volunteers…” the Doctor offered.

“Jamie! Don’t!” Alba squealed.

“Doctor, can you stop her?” Shakespeare asked.

“No mortal has power over me,” the old woman declared haughtily.

“No, but there’s power in words. If I can find the right one, if I could just name you,” the Doctor muttered.

“No one on Earth has knowledge of us,” the old woman hissed.

“Well lucky then that I’m here,” the Doctor professed. “So, humanoid female. uses words and shapes to channel energy. Ah yes! Fourteen! The fourteen stars of the Rexel planetary configuration! Creature, I name thee Carrionite!”

The old woman shrieked, the air shifted once more, and she disappeared.

“What did you do?” Alba asked, disbelief evident on her face.

“I named her. The power of a name. That’s old magic. Well, not really magic. Just a different sort of science, really. You lot use mathematics to split the atom, Carrionites use words,” he answered.

“What for?” Shakespeare asked.

“The end of the world,” the Doctor intoned grimly.

* * * * *

Once again, the three of them gathered around the table in Shakespeare’s room at the Elephant. Shakespeare and Alba were rapt as the Doctor explained.

“The Carrionites disappeared way back at the dawn of the universe. No one was sure if they were truth or legend,” he confessed.

“Well, my bet is on real,” Shakespeare declared, spreading his palms over the table.

“And what does a Carrionite want?” Alba asked curiously.

“A new empire on Earth An empire of blood, and bones, and magic,” the Doctor exhaled. “And I’m looking at the man with the words.”

“Me? But I’ve done nothing,” Shakespeare huffed.

“Well, last night. What were you doing when that Carrionite was in the room?” Alba asked.

“Finishing the play,” he replied.

“Will, what happens on the last page?” the Doctor inquired urgently.

“The boys get the girls. They have a bit of a dance. It’s all as funny and thought provoking as usual. Except for those last few lines, though. Strange thing is, I don’t really recall writing them,” Shakespeare stammered.

“The Carrionites used you,” the Doctor blurted out, his eyes lighting up. “They gave you the final words, like a spell. Love’s Labours Won, it’s a weapon. The right words spoken at the right place, using the shape of the Globe as an energy converter! The play’s the thing! And yes, you can have that. Now tell me Will, do you have a map of the city?”

“Yeah, of course. On the bookshelf. I’ll get it for you,” Shakespeare said, getting up to cross the room. He plucked the map from its spot on the shelf, and thrust it down on the table in front of the Doctor.

The Doctor examined the map closely. “This is us, here. And over there is All Hallows Street. Rose, you come with me. We’ll find them. Will, you get to the Globe and stop that play,” he instructed.

“I will do it. I’ve always been the cleverest man around, but next to you Doctor, I know nothing,” Shakespeare admitted.

“Good luck, Will. Once more unto the breach!” the Doctor shouted enthusiastically as he grabbed Alba’s hand and made for the landing.

“Oh, I like that. Wait a minute...that’s one of mine!” Shakespeare exclaimed.

“Oh, get on with it!” the Doctor admonished.

* * * * *

“Well, this is All Hallows Street. Now the question is, which house?” the Doctor mused, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Directly ahead of them, a door creaked open.

“Make that _witch_ house,” the Doctor breathed, taking Alba’s hand and heading for the door. They stepped inside and through a curtain. On the other side of the room, by the window, a pretty young woman stood waiting.

“I take it we’re expected?” the Doctor said wryly.

“Oh, I think death has been waiting for you a long time,” she purred.

“Right,” Alba said confidently, stepping forward. She pointed her finger at the other woman. “I name thee Carrionite!”

The young witch mocked a gasp, and clutched dramatically at her heart. “The power of a name only works once. Observe. As certain as a man will lie, Alba Prentice will surely die!”

Alba collapsed bonelessly into the Doctor’s arms. “What have you done to her?” he demanded angrily.

“Alas, she is only sleeping. It’s strange, the name has less impact. She is somehow out of her time,” the witch said, puzzled. “But you, Sir Doctor...there is the false name, John Smith. Why would a man hide his true name in such despair? Oh, but look, there’s one word with the power that aches.”

“Don’t,” the Doctor warned threateningly. “That won’t work on me.”

“Your heart grows cold, the North wind blows. And carries down the distant...Rose,” she whispered.

“Oh, big mistake. Because that name keeps me fighting,” the Doctor growled. “The Carrionites vanished. Where did you go?”

“The Eternals found the right words to banish us down to deep darkness,” the young witch answered.

“And how did you escape?” the Doctor prompted.

“New words. Brilliant, glittering words. From a mind like no other,” she crowed.

“Shakespeare,” the Doctor supplied.

“His son perished. The grief of a genius. Grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance,” the witch cackled.

“How many are you?” the Doctor ground out through his clenched teeth.

“Just the three. But the play tonight shall restore the rest. Then the human race will be purged as pestilence. And we will lead the universe back to the old ways, of blood and magic,” she purred.

“Oh yeah? Well, you’ll have to get through me first,” the Doctor said, stepping closer to the witch.

“Well it shall be a pleasure,” she whispered, caressing his face. “Seeing as my enemy has such a...handsome shape.”

“Now that definitely won’t work on me,” the Doctor said, narrowing his eyes.

“No matter,” the witch said, flying backwards. The windows burst open behind her and she floated in the air outside. “I have what I need.”

“What did you take?” he growled.

“A souvenir,” she cackled, waving a clipping of his hair triumphantly.

“Well give it back!” the Doctor demanded.

“Behold, Doctor. Men to Carrionites are merely puppets,” she said, wrapping the strand of hair around a voodoo doll she produced from her gown.

“You might call that magic, but I call it a DNA replication module,” the Doctor stated. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of Alba stirring behind him.

“What use is your science now?” the witch replied, viciously stabbing the doll and disappearing across the sky.

The Doctor gasped and fell to his knees before pitching backwards onto the floor. Alba gasped and crawled over to him.

“Oh my God, Jamie,” she choked. “Please, no. Please, you can’t do this to me.”

Frantically, she began giving him CPR, finally grateful that she had taken first aid as a course before she’d dropped out of school. She leaned back, breathing in harsh gasps, as his chest finally heaved up and down.

“She...missed...my heart,” he panted.

“Oh, thank God!” she choked, leaning down to kiss him firmly on the mouth. “Don’t ever do that to me again!”

He sat up and got to his feet, pulling Alba up with him. “Well, I can’t spend all day lying about here, can I? Come on, we’ve got to get to the Globe.”

They fled the house back onto All Hallows Street. Pounding down the street, they ran hand in hand, weaving through the people. They came to the end of the street and looked towards the Globe. The sky above it was swirling with red energy.

“The stage door!” the Doctor cried breathlessly, tugging Alba along with him. They ran through the door, into the backstage of the theatre. Shakespeare was sitting slumped against the wall.

“Stop the play, yeah? I thought I was pretty clear on that, I said stop the play!” the Doctor growled furiously.

“I hit my head,” Shakespeare replied, sounding dazed.

“Don’t rub it, you’ll go bald,” the Doctor advised. “I think that’s my cue!”

Out in the theatre, the Carrionites shrieked in giddy glee. Terrifying, wraith-like creatures were flying from a red globed clasped in the youngest witch’s hands. “Now begins the millenium of blood!”

The Doctor rushed onto the stage, Shakespeare and Alba close behind him. He grasped the poet by the shoulders. “Will, history needs you. You’ve got to stop this, reverse the spell.”

“But how?” Will shouted, struggling to be heard over the din of the panicking audience and the shrieking creatures filling the theatre.

“Words, Will. You’re the wordsmith. The shape of the Globe gives the words power, and you’re the one man genius enough to do it,” the Doctor encouraged.

“But what words? I have none ready!” Shakespeare cried in response.

“You’re William Shakespeare!” the Doctor shouted back.

“But these Carrionite phrases, they require such precision,” Shakespeare protested.

“Trust yourself, Will. When you’re locked away in your room, the words just come like magic, don’t they? The right words, the right shapes, the right rhythm. Do it. Improvise,” the Doctor said firmly.

Shakespeare steeled himself, and began to speak. “Close up this din of hateful, dire decay, decomposition of your witches' plot. You thieve my brains, consider me your toy. My doting Doctor tells me I am not! Foul Carrionite spectres, cease your show. Between the points…”

“Seven six one three nine oh!” the Doctor supplied.

“Seven six one three nine oh! Banished like a tinker’s cuss, I say to thee...disappear without fuss!” Shakespeare trumpeted.

“The deep darkness! They are consumed!” the Carrionites cried, disappearing into the maelstrom. The doors of the set flew open and the pages of the play were torn up and into the churning storm. 

“Love’s Labours Won, there it goes,” the Doctor said sadly, watching it disappear into the whirlwind. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The theatre was silent for a moment before a slow applause began sweeping through the audience. It gradually picked up, becoming louder and louder.

Alba turned towards Shakespeare and the Doctor. “They think it was all just special effects?”

“Your effect is special indeed,” Shakespeare said, leering back at her.

“That’s not your best line,” she retorted.

* * * * *

The next morning, Alba said with Shakespeare on the edge of the stage. He was smiling widely at her. 

“And I say I heart for a hart and a dear for a deer,” he chuckled, staring into her eyes.

“I don’t get it,” Alba said, squirming uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Alright then. Tell me a joke from Freedonia,” he implores.

Alba chews her lip, thinking about before she finally speaks. “Shakespeare walks into a pub. The bartender says ‘Oi mate, you’re bard’.”

Shakespeare laughed heartily at this. “That’s brilliant. Doesn’t make sense, but nevermind that.”

Just then, the Doctor came strolling in, wearing a small, crimped ruff around his neck. “How’s your head, Will?”

“Still aching,” the other man admitted.

“Brought you this. Neck brace. Wear it for a few days. Mind you, might want to keep it. It suits you,” the Doctor said, fastening it around Shakespeare’s neck.

“What about the play?” Alba asked.

“Gone. I looked all over. Every last copy of Love’s Labour’s Won went up in the sky,” the Doctor answered. “Rose and I should be off, though, back to Freedonia. Let you get back to it. Lots of new inspiration for you.”

“You mean travel on through time and space?” Shakespeare replied coyly. “It’s not hard to work out, Doctor. Rose is from the future, and you are from another world.”

“Will, you really are a genius,” the Doctor said, beaming.

“Before you go, let me give you a new verse. A sonnet for my sweet lady. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, thou art more lovely and more temperate…” Shakespeare began. The Doctor and Alba shared a shocked look as he went on to recite the rest of sonnet eighteen. When he had finished, he took Alba’s hand and brought it briefly to his lips.

“Wow,” Alba said, at loss for words. 

Shakespeare preened. “I do my best.”

“Alright then, we’ll be off. Good luck, Will,” the Doctor said, taking Alba’s hand.

“Goodbye, Doctor, Rose,” the other man said, waving.

They departed the theatre and headed back down the street, towards where the TARDIS was parked. The Doctor reached into his pocket, withdrew the key, and unlocked the door in one smooth motion. The two of them slipped inside and collapsed onto the jump seat.

“So you are the inspiration for one of the most famous love poems of all time,” he chuckled, drawing Alba into his embrace. “It turns out the curves of your lips really _do_ rewrite history.”


	30. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba and the Doctor finally pay a visit to Andrea.

“Alright. So spill,” Alba said, snuggling closer to the Doctor on the jumpseat. “Why Shakespeare? Were you planning on that all along?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t planning on the Carrionites. But yeah, it was my plan all along to take you to see Shakespeare. I was just remembering before, that book of poetry. You said you wished you’d grown up on that Earth, that they seemed so full of love and longing. So I figured Earth, Shakespeare, good combination. The original romantic,” the Doctor said, draping his arm over her shoulder.

“You remembered I said that?” she asked, touched.

“I remember everything you’ve told me. I wouldn’t miss a word of it,” he said with a grin.

“So is that habit, then? Dropping in on historical figures?” she questioned, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers.

“Not always, no. But I’ve met a few over the years. It’s sort of irresistible to go back, see the things you learned about unfold before your eyes. Traveling is an escape for me. I can leave my problems behind, see the universe. Who wouldn’t want to do that?” he said.

“No one I can think of it. So where to next?” she asked him curiously.

“Well, I promised you I’d take you to see your mother…”

“Really?” she said, her eyes lighting up. “We’re going to see my mum?”

“Well, so long as we can come up with a plausible story that explains your absence and how we met. Nothing involving the slave exchange,” he replied hesitantly.

“No, of course not,” she answered hastily. “What were you thinking?”

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “We could always stretch the truth a bit. I mean, I am a doctor. Andrea doesn’t necessarily have to know what kind of doctor. We can tell her you were injured, and I cared for you in hospital. Say you were knocked out and mugged. When you came to, you had amnesia, but your ID was gone. That would explain why you didn’t get back in touch with your mother right away. By the time it came back to you, she had moved, and it took us some time to track her down.”

“Moved? My mother moved?” she asked, confused.

“I had her moved,” the Doctor replied carefully. “Off the Powell Estate. Somewhere I knew she’d be safe.”

“How’d you do that then?” she quizzed him.

“Well, that’s the thing. I kind of...lied to you,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How do you mean?” Alba asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“A few weeks ago, when I told you there was an explosion at the lab? Well, I lied. The explosion wasn’t at the lab. It was at Henrik’s,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

“What?” she replied, her mouth dropping open.

“Your mother is fine,” he responded quickly. “She’s fine. I pulled her out of the building before it collapsed. She didn’t see my face, though-she was unconscious. She was sedated for a while. Jack kept watch over her, and then brought her to hospital. We concocted the story that she’d been in a coma for six months as a result of the accident, but that she’d also come into a significant amount of money for being involved.”

“My mother was almost killed, and you didn’t think to mention it to me?” Alba asked, her voice raising several octaves. She got up from the jumpseat and stormed around the console.

He could tell she was properly furious by the expression on her face. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry, and there was so much going on, with Harry and Rani...and I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you...I was just worried that if you knew your mother had been in an accident, you’d want to go home,” he said sheepishly.

“How am I ever supposed to trust you when you keep doing things like this?” she spat at him angrily.

He hung his head, and sighed. “You have every right to be angry at me. I’m rubbish at this, I really am. And well, you know how my last relationship ended.”

Her expression softened a little at that, but her mouth was still pressed into a thin line. “This is never going to work if you keep hiding things from me. I’ve been nothing but honest with you. I think I deserve the same in return.”

“Yes, of course you do,” he said. “And I’ve really been trying. To open up to you, to tell you what I’m thinking and feeling. It’s just hard for me. But I won’t offer platitudes or makes excuses...I’ll just do better from now on.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “I suppose I’ll have to think of some way for you to make it up to me.”

“Whatever you like,” he said, moving to stand in front of her. He pulled her into his arms and enfolded her in a hug before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I want Jack to take me shopping. I’d like to pick out some of my own clothes, if it’s all the same to you. That’s how you can make it up to me,” she finally said.

“Okay, but why Jack? I can take you shopping,” he said, flapping his hand.

“Because Jack is the closest thing I have to a girlfriend, that’s why,” she laughed.

“Fair enough, I suppose. I doubt he’d mind. Admittedly, shopping isn’t exactly my thing. I’m good at making money, not quite as good at spending it,” he said, considering. “Well...most of the time. Anyway...you mother! I suppose it’s now or never,” he said, busying himself with flipping levers and turning dials.

“You’re nervous to meet her, aren’t you?” Alba said, a look of realisation crossing her face.

“Well isn’t everyone nervous the first time they meet their significant other’s parents?” he retorted.

“Is that what we are then? Significant others,” she said, trying the phrase out.

“I don’t know if they’ve invented a word yet that quite manages to encapsulate the complexities of our relationship,” he answered honestly.

“You should have asked Shakespeare to invent one,” she replied, her tongue poking between her teeth.

“Well if we ever encounter the Bard again, I’ll be sure to do that,” he said dryly. The ship shuddered roughly around them, indicating they had landed. “Come on them...time to meet your mother.”

She let him take her by the hand and lead her to the TARDIS door. They stepped outside and onto a quiet street lined with row homes. “Where are we?” she asked.

“Chiswick,” he replied, striding down the street.

“Chiswick. Right,” she said, not sounding wholly convinced. It was hard to imagine her mother ending up anywhere so seemingly...mundane.

“It is Chiswick,” he insisted, tugging her down the street. They stopped in front of a brick house with a lush front garden. An orange cat was lounging indolently on the porch. “Ready?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for this. The question is, are _you_ ready?” she asked, turning towards him.

“As ready as I’m ever going to be,” he said, walking with her up to the porch. They stepped over the cat and the Doctor raised his hand to rap several times on the door. They heard shifting inside the house, and then a few moments later the door opened.

“Alba!” Andrea exclaimed, swinging the door wide open.

“Hi mum,” Alba croaked, relief washing over her. She let her mother pull her into a crushing embrace. Both women stood there, crying quietly. The Doctor stood off to the side, awkwardly watching them.

“I thought you were gone. I thought I’d never see you again!” Andrea cried.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Alba replied tearfully.

“What happened to you, Alba? You’ve been gone over six months!” Andrea exclaimed.

“It’s kind of a long story. Do you mind if we come in?” Alba asked. 

Andrea looked to the side, finally noticing the Doctor. “Who’s he?”

“I’m the Doctor,” he volunteered helpfully, extending his hand to her. “Doctor John Smith.”

“Yeah, of course. Come in. I just put the kettle on. Have a seat in the living room and I’ll be right back out,” Andrea said, leading them to a spacious room furnished with a sofa, two armchairs, a coffee table, and a television. Alba and the Doctor settled uneasily next to each other on the sofa.

“It’s nice,” Alba remarked offhandedly.

“I did tell you I’d take care of her,” the Doctor replied softly.

“So you did,” she said, squeezing his hand.

Andrea bustled into the room carrying a tea tray with cream, sugar, lemon, three mugs and spoons. She set it down on the coffee table and settled into one of the overstuffed armchairs. “I wasn’t sure how you took your tea, Doctor, so I brought lemon and cream. Alright, I’m listening,” she said, stirring sugar into her tea. “Tell me this long story. And how you know this handsome fellow here.”

Alba and the Doctor exchanged a nervous glance. The Doctor gestured with his hand, indicating Alba should take the lead. She cleared her throat, dumped an unhealthy amount of sugar into her tea and splashed it with cream. She curled her hands around the mug like it was a safety tether and settled back against the sofa. “I was out walking. I don’t really remember why I was out or where I was going, but someone snuck up behind me and hit me over the head, hard. When I woke up, I was in the hospital...and I had no memory of who I was. The assailant had taken my purse, so I had no ID, no nothing to give any indication of who I was, where I was from. I didn’t regain my memory for several months. By the time I did, you were gone from the council estate. It’s taken us a while to track you down,” Alba said, sipping at her tea.

“And when you regained your memory, you didn’t think to pick up a phone and call me? I thought you were dead!” Andrea said, anger simmering below the surface.

“It’s not her fault,” the Doctor interjected. “She was under my care. Memory loss is a tricky thing. It didn’t all come back to her at once. And some things are still hazy. If she could’ve called you, she would’ve. We came to you as soon as she was well enough to.”

“And who exactly are you, in the grand scheme of things?” Andrea asked frostily.

“I’m her doctor and husband,” the Doctor replied, setting his tea on the table.

“ _What?_ ” she replied, incredulously. She turned her gaze to Alba. “You disappear for months, leaving me to think you were dead...and you ran off and got married? This is like Jimmy Stone all over again!”

“This is in no way like Jimmy Stone!” Alba shouted back, her frustration bubbling over. “I didn’t ask to be hit over the head or to lose my memory. And I didn’t expect to fall in love. But the Doctor, John, was there for me when I had nothing else. Yes, we got married. It’s that simple. It’s already happened, so you can accept it or not. But I love him, in a way I thought I’d never love anyone again. Can’t you just be glad that I’m alive, and happy?”

“How old is he?” Andrea asked.

“What difference does it make?” Alba said throwing up her hands, exasperated.

“It’s a simple enough question. I asked how old he was,” Andrea persisted.

“I’ll be 30 next week,” the Doctor answered.

“Oh, an older man. Isn’t that always the way?” Andrea huffed.

“Mum, you’re being ridiculous. I’ve been gone for months, and this isn’t exactly the kind of home coming I imagined. John is a doctor, not an alcoholic wanna be rockstar. Someone who can take care of me. Exactly the kind of son-in-law you’ve always wanted, I expect,” Alba replied, struggling to keep her tone even and measured. “So, you can keep harping on me. Or you can say congratulations. But either way, I’m not going to sit here and be lambasted. I survived months without you, I can do it again if I have to. It’s your choice.”

Andrea sat back, seeming to consider Alba’s words. “I don’t suppose you have any pictures of this wedding?” she finally offered.

The Doctor and Alba both let out sighs of relief. “We haven’t gotten the pictures back yet, but as soon as we have we’ll make sure you get to see them,” he said.

“I suppose that’ll have to do. Figures I miss my only child getting married. But at least you’re okay,” Andrea conceded. “When you get the pictures, you’ll have to have me over.”

“Ah, well, actually I just sold my home in London,” the Doctor said quickly. “I’ve just accepted a position with Doctors Without Borders. It’s going to require us to travel.”

“Great. So what you’re telling me is that I just got my daughter back, and now you’re whisking her away again,” Andrea said flatly.

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “I’ve kept your daughter safe this long. I will continue to do so. And I’ll make sure that you get a phone call from her every week.”

Andrea let out a long, whooshing sigh. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get, innit? Alright, then. Will you at least stay for dinner?”

Alba smiled at her mother. “I think we can manage that,” she said, turning her gaze to the Doctor, who nodded in agreement.

“Brilliant. I’ll call the take away around the corner, we can have a nice curry. My cooking hasn’t improved any in your absence,” Andrea admitted, getting up. “Curry alright with you two?”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you like,” Alba said conciliatorily.

“Alright. Gotta fetch my mobile. I’ll just be a mo,” Andrea replied, leaving the room.

“As bad as you were expecting?” Alba asked him quietly when her mother had gone.

“Just about,” he said with a grimace. “But we carried it off. Nice job.”

* * * * *

Dinner was mostly uneventful. Over steaming plates of chicken tikka masala, Andrea regaled them with the tale of the accident she didn’t quite remember, and how she came into money and ended up in Chiswick. Alba and the Doctor listened politely, giving no indication that they already knew the details of this particular story. When it came time to leave, the two women stood by the door, hugging tightly.

“Don’t you be a stranger, now that you’re a married woman,” Andrea admonished sternly.

“I promise I won’t. I’ll call you soon,” Alba assured her mother. Satisfied, Andrea closed the door on them. They both sighed with relief, and turned to go back up the walk. Silently, they strolled hand in hand, back to the TARDIS.

“What you said back there, to your mother. Did you mean it?” the Doctor asked her when they reached the TARDIS door.

“Did I mean what?” she replied, confused.

“What you said back there...about loving me. Did you mean it?” he asked, not daring to hope.

Alba regarded him quietly. “I said it, didn’t I?”

“90% of what we told her back there was lies. Was that one of them?” he pressed her urgently.

She smiled softly at him. “No. It wasn’t a lie. I love you.”

“Oh, Rose,” he breathed, sweeping her into his arms. “I love you, too. So much. I never thought I’d ever hear those words again from anyone, least of all you. I never thought I’d feel that way about anyone after Romana and Susanna. I’m so glad I found you.”

“Me too,” she replied, nestling happily against him.


	31. A New Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes Alba on a shopping trip.

Harry refused the Doctor’s dinner invitation.

They had returned home to the penthouse from visiting Alba’s mother nearly a week ago. The Doctor had been dead set on resolving the whole business with Harry and the vortex manipulator, but there had been no Plan B. When Harry turned down the invitation to come to dinner, the Doctor had stormed up and down the hall, muttering to himself and pulling at his hair. He didn’t even seem to see her standing there in the doorway of the library, arms folded, watching his progress with uneasy eyes.

“Fucking Harry,” he cursed. “Now what am I supposed to do? He must know I’m on to him.”

She knew the question had been more rhetorical than anything, but she cleared her throat, finally garnering his attention. “We’ll think of something else. You’re clever, I’m sure there’s got to be another way.”

“That was my only hope, having him over for dinner and lacing it with truth sage. Barring that, I don’t know how else I would dose him...unless…” he said, a lightbulb look crossing his face.

“What? What is it?” she asked.

“If I could distill the truth sage into a liquid form and extract the flavor from it, I could use it to dose his coffee at work. That might actually work!” he exclaimed excitedly.

“Well then. Best get to it,” she said with a smile.

“I’ve got to get to the lab,” he said, tossing a glance back at her. “I’ll call Jack. He can take you on that shopping trip.”

“How long do you think it will take? To make a truth serum?” she asked.

“Hard telling. Distilling it into a liquid form will be fairly easy...but extracting the flavor so it’s tasteless will be a little more difficult. I could be at it for a while,” he admitted. “I hate the thought of just leaving you here to your own devices, though.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “This business with Harry, yeah? It’s important. Certainly more important than me. I can wait.”

The Doctor cupped her face in his hand. “Nothing is more important than you, Rose,” he said softly, stroking along the line of her jaw.

“All of time and space, the future of the universe? I think that is a bit more important than you and me. Go on, go to the lab. Jack will keep me company. And when you get home...I’ll be waiting,” she said.

His gaze lingered on her. “And that’s the thing that makes it all worth it. Right, I’ll call Jack. You go on and get ready.”

“Don’t you want breakfast before you go? Tea?” she questioned, not quite ready to let him go.

“Nah, too anxious to eat right now. But thank you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before turning to go back down the hall. He slipped into the closet, presumably to go upstairs and get dressed.

“Jamie!” she called out to him.

He poked his head back through the doorway to look at her. “Yeah?”

“Just...be careful. That’s all,” she said anxiously.

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, ducking back into the closet. 

Alba watched him go, chewing on her thumbnail. Truthfully, the whole business with Harry and Rani had her rattled because it had the Doctor rattled. He was convinced that they were planning something, but had no ideas as to what. Sighing, she padded down the hall to her bedroom, which she hadn’t slept in at all since they had returned. Still, all her clothes and toiletries were there-she hadn’t yet begun the process of moving her things into the Doctor’s bedroom, which seemed the next natural step to take now that they were routinely spending the nights with each other. Part of her enjoyed having her own space, though, especially her own bathroom. The Doctor’s en suite only had a shower, no bath, and she was fond of a good soak. She covered the drain, dumped in some scented oils, and turned the tap on as hot as it would go. She took off her clothes and stepped gratefully into the steaming bath. Muscles beginning to ease, she let herself sink deeper into the tub. She’d been feeling achy and a little peaky for a few days now-she hoped she wasn’t coming down with anything. Turning her attention to the task at hand, she grabbed her loofah and a bottle of shower gel and began soaping herself up. She squirmed, remembering how it had felt to let the Doctor wash her, his fingers skating over her body and… 

She was never going to accomplish anything if she let her mind wander, especially in that particular direction. Estimating she’d been in the bath at least half an hour, she pulled the stop out of the drain and watched the water swirl away from her. When the tub was empty, she turned the tap back on and splashed the rest of the soap off her body. Feeling clean and a bit more relaxed, she grabbed a fluffy blue towel from the hook on the wall and began drying herself off. She barely heard the knock on her door over the sound of the hair dryer.

“Hey kiddo, you decent in there?” Jack’s muffled voice asked from the other side of the door.

She clicked the hair dryer off. “I’m in my towel, but you can come in.”

Jack swung the door open and stepped into the en suite. “So apparently I’m taking you shopping? How’d you manage that?”

“The Doctor owed me one after lying to me about what happened with my mother,” she replied, pulling a brush through her hair. “Which he apparently did with your help.”

Jack shrugged guiltily. “It was nothing personal, doll. The Doctor is my best mate, and my boss, in a manner of speaking. I had to keep his confidence.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m not really mad at you. It all wound up working out in the end. I got to see my mother, and the Doctor fixed my phone, so I can call her whenever I want. It’s a bit weird, though-calling from the future to the past, speaking to someone who’s technically dead. I don’t know that I’ll ever get quite used to this time travel business,” she said, setting the brush down on the counter. “Anyway, I never did ask you-what do you do when you’re not working for the Doctor?”

“Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. I’m what you’d call a freelancer, I suppose. People hire me to do the jobs they don’t want to do themselves,” he answered vaguely.

“Such as?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answered, his tone indicating the conversation was closed. “Anyway, I’ll let you get dressed. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She sighed. No one ever told her anything, it seemed. The Doctor was being more open, while Jack was being more closed. It was strange, for the shoe to switch feet, so to speak. Jack had been the one she relied on to tell her things, at least she had before. As she looked through her wardrobe for something to wear, she wondered what kind of work he was in that he was reluctant to reveal to her. Picking out a simple blue dress, she resolved that one of the first things she would buy on today’s shopping trip was a pair of jeans. And maybe a nice, comfy, slouchy hoodie. She finished dressing, and went to meet Jack in the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he asked, holding up the half-full French press.

“Yes, thanks,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to him. He poured her a cup and passed her the cream and sugar. She fixed her coffee, then turned to look at him. “So where are we going today?”

“Just right downtown, here in Arcadia,” Jack answered.

Arcadia. So that was the city they were in. It had never been mentioned before. She nodded, and took a sip of her coffee. “Right. Well, at least we won’t have far to go. Suppose that’s good. Are we walking or driving?”

“I thought we’d walk. It’s not far to the shops from here, and it’s a nice day. That fine with you?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied. She finished her coffee, and got up to put her mug in the dishwasher. Jack handed his own empty mug across the counter to her.

“Off we go then,” Jack said cheerily, offering Alba his arm. She linked her own through his and let him lead her out of the penthouse. It was the first time she was actually seeing the outside of it. Directly outside the front door was the lift. Jack pressed the button, and after a few moments the doors slid open and they stepped inside. She took note of the numbers on the keypad-they were on the 100th floor, evidently. The lift started going down, rather quickly, and she felt her stomach roil in brief protest. She was thankful when they reached the lobby. Still holding Jack’s arm, she let him guide them out of the building and onto the sidewalk. Again, she was struck by how like New Earth the city seemed-so far in the future, she almost figured it would be different. It was comforting in a way, that on a planet that was millions of miles and a thousand years from her home world, the cities still looked mostly the same.

“It’s the Doctor’s birthday tomorrow,” Alba commented as they made their way down a busy street towards the Arcadia Gallery, which according to Jack was the largest shopping mall in the city.

“So it is. Thirty years old. God, it feels like only yesterday that we were both teenagers. How’s that old Earth song go? What a drag it is getting old,” Jack replied.

“I’ll have to get him something. Mind you, I have no idea what. What do you get for the man who has everything?” Alba pondered.

“That is a very good question. I mean, I’m sure he’ll appreciate any gift that comes from you, you’ll just have to think of what to get him,” Jack replied.

“It feels kind of silly, buying him a birthday gift with his own money. You know, I wonder if he would let me get a job. Part-time or something, just to help contribute a little. Not that that helps me right now, but still,” she said.

“There’s no reason for you to work, honestly. The Doctor has more than enough money to support you both, assuming he retains control of the business,” Jack answered. “And if he does lose control, he should still be able to get a good enough job where you wouldn’t necessarily have to work.”

“Yeah, but I want to work. I don’t want to spend all day sitting around the house. I live here now. I want to be a part of this world,” Alba confessed.

“I somehow doubt the Doctor will be wild about the idea of letting you work, given how over protective he is. Still, I suppose you could always run it by him, see what he says,” Jack said.

They passed by a chemist, and Alba came to a stop. “Do you mind if I pop in there for a moment? I just need to pick something up.”

“Yeah, sure. Are you feeling okay?” Jack asked, suddenly concerned.

“Oh, I’m fine. I just need to pick up some...female things,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

Jack flushed. “Ah, okay. Well, here’s the credit card. I’ll just wait for you out here.”

Alba had been relying on the fact that most men became uncomfortable at the mere mention of a woman’s period. “Okay, I’ll be right back,” she said, ducking into the storefront. The chemist’s was pretty small, and she located the aisle she needed easily. She scanned over the items. There were seemingly dozens of choices. She picked one at random, and brought it up to the counter to pay. The clerk handed her her receipt and her purchase in a small plastic bag, and she went back out to the street to meet Jack.

“You get what you needed?” he asked uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” she replied, taking his hand in the one not occupied by the plastic bag.

They walked the rest of the way to the Gallery. When they got there, Jack held the door open and ushered her inside. It was a weekday, and the mall didn’t seem terribly crowded. There was a directory posted not far from the door, and they went over to examine it.

“Where would you like to go first?” Jack asked, hands in his pockets.

“I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve never heard of any of these shops before. What I’d really like to get though is a nice pair of jeans and a comfortable hoodie, a couple of tshirts. Maybe some pyjamas, too, something that’s not lingerie. I have absolutely no casual clothing,” she said.

Jack contemplated this. “Well, there’s always Nyssa of Traken’s. They specialize in women’s clothing, and most of it’s high quality while still being casual,” he suggested.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Let’s start there,” she said, her fingers hovering over the directory until she found the listing for Nyssa of Traken’s. They set off for the store, which was on the far end of the first floor. True to Jack’s word, most of the clothing was casual. She sifted through racks of jeans until she found the perfect pair-low rise with slightly flared legs in a dark shade of blue. They went into the shopping basket, and she continued her quest. When she got to the tshirts, she wasn’t entirely surprised to see that most of them sported the names of bands she’d never heard of, places she’d never been, pop culture references she wasn’t familiar with. She finally picked up a plain turquoise blue v-neck, and added that to her basket. Jack trailed along behind her to the dressing room, waiting outside while she changed.

“What do you think?” she asked when she came out, modeling the outfit for him.

“I think those jeans make your ass look fantastic. Almost like they were tailor made. And that top is perfect. Just enough cleavage without being too revealing,” he said.

Alba beamed at him. “Thank you. I’ll have to pick up a couple pairs of these jeans. I really like the cut and fit.”

She ended up grabbing a second pair of jeans in black denim, and a few more plain tshirts in varying colors. She also picked out a tight fitting zipper up hoodie in a deep wine-colored shade of purple. They took her things up to the register and Jack paid for them with the Doctor’s credit card. They exited the store and made their way back out into the mall. Both of them were a little hungry, so they stopped by a soft pretzel stand and got a snack-almond covered for Alba, cinnamon sugar for Jack. They munched on their pretzels as they continued walking around.

“Alright Rosie, where to next?” Jack asked, licking sugar from his fingers.

“Well, I’m supposing me and the Doctor will do something for his birthday. Maybe I should buy a new dress to wear.”

“I know just the place,” Jack said, tugging her towards a large store called Chameleon Clothiers. The shop was filled with dresses in varying colors and styles, some formal, some casual. Alba was drawn immediately to a powder blue halter dress with a black lace overlay that cut off right above the knee. After trying it on and seeing that it fit perfectly off the rack, she purchased it and they returned to the mall. She decided she wanted to find matching lingerie to go with it, so Jack took her over to a store called Curves that literally only sold bras, knickers, and other underthings. She picked out a matching set in black lace. At this point, they were fairly loaded down with bags. As they were leaving the mall, they passed a kiosk that was selling hand-carved wooden watches.

“Oh Jack, look at these,” she said, picking up a watch that was carved out of shiny black wood. “This would be perfect for the Doctor.”

“What about this one?” Jack asked, holding up another watch. “This one is carved from rosewood.”

“Perfect,” she agreed, taking the watch from him. She handed the watch and the credit card to the man staffing the kiosk. He put the time piece in a small black box and handed her both the package and the receipt. Juggling the bags, they left the mall and walked back to the penthouse to deposit Alba’s purchases before going back out to the grocery store so she could get the ingredients to make dinner for that night and a cake for tomorrow. By the time all was said and done and they returned home, it was nearly dinner time.

“Thanks for taking me out,” Alba said as they were unloading the groceries in the kitchen.

“Any time, doll. It was my pleasure,” he said, smiling at her warmly. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to get home to Alonso.”

“Alright, guess I’ll see you around,” she said. She waited until Jack had left to go and get the bag from the chemist’s. She took the bag into her en suite, and removed the package inside of it. She read the instructions on the box before tearing it open and removing the test inside. It wasn’t all that different from the sort of pregnancy tests they sold on New Earth. She did her business, and waited anxiously for the results. After twiddling her thumbs on the toilet for a few minutes, she picked up the test and looked at the little window.

“Rose, I’m home,” she heard the Doctor call from the hallway. Hurriedly, she shoved the test back into its box and stashed it behind the toilet before going to meet him outside of her room.

He planted a kiss square on her lips and wrapped her in his arms. “How was shopping?”

“It was good, good. Got some jeans and tshirts, a new dress, a couple of other things. But what about you? Did you have any luck with that truth serum?” she asked, pulling back to look at him.

He smiled. “I did indeed. It’s ready and waiting. Now all I have to do is slip some in Harry’s coffee and wait for the chaos to unfold.”

“When do you think you’ll do that?” she asked.

“Probably on Friday. Tomorrow’s my birthday, I don’t want to have to deal with the inevitable shit show,” he replied.

“So what did you want to do for your birthday?” she questioned, trying to hide how anxious she was.

“I thought we’d go out to dinner. I haven’t really taken you out anywhere, I thought it might be nice to do that. There’s this little seafood restaurant I love called Nautilus, it’s right here in Arcadia. I was going to call and make a reservation for tomorrow night at seven. How’s that sound?”

“Whatever you like, it’s your birthday,” she replied.

He smiled at her. “Yeah, and I’ve already got the best gift of all.”

“What’s that then?” she asked.

“You,” he replied, sweeping her into his arms.


	32. Celebrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Alba celebrate his birthday. NSFW.

When Alba awoke, the Doctor was curled around her, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Gently, she eased out from underneath him, careful not to wake him up. She got out of the bed, slipped her nightgown on over her head, and went down the stairs to the first floor. In the kitchen, she gathered the ingredients she would need to do a proper English fry up. In the pan, she cooked sausage and bacon, then bread and a few slices of tomatoes. She didn’t feel too guilty using canned beans, as very few people tended to make their own from scratch. She fried bread and sunny side up eggs, made a strong pot of tea, and loaded everything onto a tray to take back upstairs. It was a little awkward, pushing through the coats to get back to the door that lead to the Doctor’s bedroom, but she managed it well enough. Carefully, she carried the tray in both hands and used her hip to open the door, which she had intentionally left half-open. On the bed, the Doctor was sprawled out on his back, snoring softly. She went around to the other side of the bed and carefully climbed onto it, mindful not to knock about the breakfast tray. She set it down at the end of the bed, and gently shook the Doctor’s shoulder.

He opened his eyes and blinked owlishly up at her before his face broke out in a grin. “Well good morning, gorgeous.”

“Happy Birthday, Jamie. I brought you breakfast in bed,” she said, smiling back at him.

He sat up, the covers pooling around his waist as he took in the breakfast tray. “A full English. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I didn’t need to, but I wanted to,” she said, passing him a plate and a mug of tea. “You skipped out on breakfast with me yesterday, I wasn’t going to let you do it a second time in a row.”

He pierced the yolk of his eggs with the corner of a piece of fried bread. “These are perfect. Just how I like them.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I know sunny side up are your favorite. You mentioned it a while back.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “You’re too good to me.”

She laughed. “Not at all. It’s my pleasure, really. You know I love to cook. I find it grounding.”

He shoveled a forkful of beans into his mouth. “So what are you going to do today while I’m at work.”

“Oh, probably some cleaning. The kitchen is a bit of a mess. After that, I figured I’d head into the library and do some reading. You don’t have a telly, so I’ve got to find other ways to occupy my time.”

“If you want a telly, we can get one. I just never really had the time or inclination to watch TV. The news is boring, and the shows aren’t much better. But there are always films to watch, I suppose,” he said.

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not necessary, honestly. I’ve found that I enjoy reading. You have so many different books on so many different subjects, I could read twenty-four hours a day for a year and still not even make a dent in your collection.”

They ate their breakfast, chatting animatedly as they did. When they had finished, the Doctor set the tray on the floor by the bed, and gathered Alba into his arms. They started out just snuggling, but soon were trading passionate kisses. The Doctor pulled Alba’s nightgown over her head, and they made love before he had to shower and dress for work. Afterwards, Alba dropped back off to sleep. The Doctor kissed her forehead before he left, and she smiled in her sleep.

* * * * *

After Alba awoke for the second time, she took a quick shower in the Doctor’s en suite. She threw on his bathrobe before making her way back downstairs to the kitchen. She pulled out all the ingredients she would need, and set about to making a birthday cake. She made a simple batter and mixed pureed bananas and vanilla bean into it. She poured the batter into three round cake pans, and let them bake in the oven while she whipped up a simple homemade vanilla buttercream to frost the cake with. After she had pulled them out of the oven, she let them cool for half an hour while she sat perched on a stool, sipping a cup of tea and reading one of the many books of poetry the Doctor had in his library. She frosted each layer separately before stacking them, one on top of the other. She used blue food coloring to tint the rest of the frosting, then put it into a plastic sandwich bag. She cut the corner off with a pair of kitchen scissors, and wrote ‘Happy Birthday Jamie’ in neat cursive on the top of the cake. She surveyed her work with a pleased expression. Hopefully, he would like the cake. She cleaned up the mess she had made, and then set about on her second baking project for the day, a much smaller but important sweet treat.

After she had finished baking, she spent the rest of the afternoon puttering about, doing some light housework before folding herself onto the loveseat in the library to read some more. Around five o’clock, she got up and went to her room to get dressed for dinner. The Doctor had called earlier, letting her know he would be home by six. She shimmied into her new lingerie before slipping the blue halter dress over her head. She used a curling iron to roll her hair into soft waves, and applied her makeup in front of her bathroom mirror. She thought she looked pretty good. She was just finishing up applying her lipstick when she heard the front door open and then slam shut. The Doctor appeared in her en suite just a few short moments later.

“You look lovely,” he said, beaming at her. “Is that dress new?”

“Yeah, I picked it out yesterday when Jack and I went shopping. Do you like it?” she said, giving him a twirl.

“I think it looks perfect on you,” he said, crossing the room to wrap her in his arms. He planted a kiss on her lips, then leaned back to look at her. “Am I wearing your lipstick?”

“Nah, it’s colorstay formula, you’re good,” she replied, kissing him back.

“So, dinner?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Oh, yes please. I’m famished,” she replied, letting him lead her out of the en suite. “Before we go though, I have something to give you.”

“Oh?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

She went to the nightstand, and opened the drawer. She withdrew a small black box, and handed it to him. “I hope you like it,” she said, handing him the box.

He took the lid off the box and peered down at the object inside. “Oh Rose, it’s beautiful. I actually broke my old wristwatch last month, this is perfect. And it’s carved out of rosewood, yeah?”

“Yeah. I figured it was fitting, a rosewood watch from Rose,” she said, her tongue poking its way between her teeth.

“I love it,” he said, slipping the watch onto his wrist before wrapping her up in a tight hug.

“I’m glad,” she replied, nestling her head against his shoulder.

“Alright then, dinner?” he said, steering her toward the front door. They took the lift down to the first floor and went out onto the street, where the Doctor’s hover car was parked and waiting. After a brief ten minute drive, they arrived at the restaurant, which was packed full. The maitre d’ lead them to their table, which was directly next to a large plate glass window overlooking a river.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” the tuxedoed man told them primly, setting menus down in front of them.

“So, what did you today?” the Doctor asked as they looked over their menus.

“Oh, nothing much. I baked you a cake, and did a little light cleaning,” she answered.

“What kind of cake?” he asked.

“Banana with vanilla buttercream. Nothing too fancy.”

He smiled. “That’s brilliant. Banana is my favorite.”

“I know,” she replied, taking a sip of her water. “How was work today?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Same old, same old. Nothing very exciting.”

Their server appeared beside the table. “Hello, my name is Turlough, and I’ll be your server this evening. Tonight’s specials are a poached salmon with grilled asparagus and roasted Fingerling potatoes, and a seafood cioppino with scallops, shrimp, clams and red snapper. Our appetizer special is a scallop and shrimp ceviche served with toasted pita bread. Are you ready to order?”

Alba looked at the Doctor. “You know this place pretty well, why don’t you order for the both of us.”

“I’ll have the cioppino, and my wife here will have the Oscar turbot. We’ll take the ceviche appetizer, and a bottle of your house red, please,” the Doctor said, handing their menus to the server.

“Very good, sir,” the server said, scribbling their order down on his pad. “I’ll be back shortly with your wine and salads.”

“So, thirty years old. How does it feel?” Alba asked, taking his hand in hers.

“Same as it felt to be twenty-nine. I’m not middle aged, not yet,” he said wryly, giving her hand a light squeeze.

The server returned with their salads, a bottle of Pinot Noir, and two wine glasses. He had poured them each a glass before Alba could muster a protest. Anyway, it wasn’t as though she could refuse the wine without raising questions, and it was only a single glass, after all. She figured she could avoid a second glass by telling the Doctor that too much red wine gave her a headache.

They tucked into their salads, making light conversation as they ate. They discussed places they might go on their next trip in the TARDIS. The Doctor mentioned maybe taking her to the planet Barcelona, a place where the dogs had no noses. Turlough reappeared to clear away their salad dishes. The Doctor didn’t press Alba when she refused a refill on her wine. He was more than happy to finish the bottle by himself. Several minutes later, their server returned with their entrees.

“Oh, this is just gorgeous,” Alba said, taking a bite of her fish. “Excellent choice.”

The Doctor smiled at her. “Yeah, the turbot here is one of my favorite dishes. The jumbo lump crabmeat on top really makes the meal.”

They traded bites of their entrees with each other before settling down to eat their food. The conversation slowed considerably, but didn’t stop altogether as they continued eating. Since Alba had made a cake, they did not order dessert. The Doctor left their server a generous tip, and they made their way back out to the hover car, holding hands all the way. Back at the penthouse, they went to the kitchen and each had a slice of the banana cake.

“I actually have something else for you in the oven,” Alba said when they had finished their dessert. “Why don’t you have a look?”

The Doctor got up from the table, opened the oven door and peered inside. “It’s a cinnamon bun.”

Alba waited for it to sink in. She knew the exact moment it hit the Doctor, because he turned back to look at her with a startled, but hopeful expression on his face. “You’re not…?”

She smiled back at him. “Happy Birthday, dad.”

“Oh Rose, that’s absolutely brilliant!” he exclaimed, pulling her out of her chair and into his embrace. He lifted her off her feet, and spun around the kitchen before setting her back on her feet and planting a kiss on her lips. “How long have you been keeping this a secret?”

“Not long at all. I only found out yesterday. When Jack and I were out shopping, I stopped in the chemist’s and picked up a test. I’m going to need to go to a doctor to find out how far along I am, but yeah. I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, there’s no need to see a doctor. I have a fully equipped infirmary in the TARDIS. There’s a test I can run to see how many weeks you are, no ultrasound required,” he said, his arms still wrapped tightly around her.

“That can wait though, yeah?” she said, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. “I figured there were other things you might want to get up to tonight.”

The Doctor’s eyes glinted at her suggestion. “Oh?”

“Come on,” she said, tugging him out of the kitchen by the hand and down the hall to the closet. The Doctor wasted no time punching in the access code and dashing up the stairs, pausing only to open the door with his sonic screwdriver. In the bedroom, they both hurried out of their clothes before diving naked onto the bed.

The Doctor rolled Alba onto her back and straddled her, the tip of his already erect cock nudging at her damp folds. They snogged passionately, their tongues tangling together, their mouths tasting of the vanilla buttercream from the cake. The Doctor was the one to finally break the kiss, angling his head between her neck and shoulder and nipping gently at the skin there. He kissed his way down and across her collarbones before taking her nipple into his mouth, rolling the little nub around his tongue, teasing it into a taut pink peak before moving to her other breast and laving that nipple with his teeth and tongue. He kissed the shallow valley between her breasts before her moving down her torso. He kissed around her navel reverently, as though he were trying to communicate with the little life cradled in her womb. Finally, he pried her legs apart and ducked his head between her thighs, swirling his tongue around the swollen bud of her clit. He licked and sucked, savoring her musky flavor, until she was gasping and writhing against the bed, her hands buried in the thicket of his hair.

“Jamie...need you...inside me,” she panted breathlessly.

He looked up at her and smiled, his mouth red and shining with her juices. He moved to straddle her again, rubbing the head of his cock teasingly up and down her slit before finally pushing deep inside of her. They both gasped, and he began to move within her, settling into a fast-paced but steady rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing him deeper into her body. He pressed his face against the side of her neck and began licking and sucking the skin there until it was purple and bruised. She raked her nails up and down his back, causing him to illicit a low, throaty growl deep in his throat. He reached between them to the place where they were joined and began aggressively stroking her clit, bringing her to a shuddering climax before he finally spent himself inside of her. He rolled off of her, and both of them lay panting and sweaty on the bed.

“I don’t know why, but that was better than usual. Not that it isn’t always great...this was just especially amazing,” she said, reaching out to take hold of his hand.

“Well, there’s a simple explanation for that,” he said, stroking his thumb along the inside of her wrist. “During pregnancy, there’s increased blood flow to the breasts and sex organs, making them more sensitive. That’s why pregnancy sex is so good. Of course, it could also just be that I’m a stud in bed.”

She rolled her eyes at him good naturedly. “And modest, too.”

He laughed, and pulled her body against his, molding himself to her. “I’d be perfectly happy to prove the point to you.”

“Oh, I bet you would,” she said, her tongue poking its way between her teeth.


	33. The Long Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finally confronts Harry about the vortex manipulator.

“So how does this work, exactly? I’m sort of confused,” Alba asked from her perch on the exam table. They were in the TARDIS infirmary, and the Doctor was preparing to test her to see how far along she was in her pregnancy.

He held up a small device that looked very similar to the blood glucose testing kits used by diabetics on old Earth, just slightly larger and surprisingly, more streamlined. “Just a prick of the finger, that’s all it requires. It barely even hurts. The device only needs a small amount of blood to properly run the test. It works by measuring the levels of hormones in your body in a more precise and exact way than a normal pregnancy test would. It detects the levels of human chorionic gonadotropin and progesterone to calculate and produce an estimate of how far along a pregnancy is, with an almost 99.9% rate of accuracy.”

“And you developed it?” she asked him.

“Yes I did,” he answered proudly. “Sold the patent on it, and now they use it in doctor’s offices and hospitals all over the planet.”

“I thought you were just a chemist. Seems you’re a botanist and inventor and all sorts of other things, too,” she said, extending her hand to him so he could collect the blood sample. Just as promised, it was a quick prick of the finger, no more painful than a paper cut. Actually, it hurt significantly less than a paper cut, which she had always hated. She used to get them all the time working in the shops, unpacking cardboard boxes of merchandise shipments.

“Ah well, you know what they say. Jack of all trades, master of none,” he replied glibly.

“Well I don’t know about that. You certainly seem to be a master in the bedroom,” she said, tongue poking its way between her teeth.

He waggled his eyebrows at her in a rather lewd fashion. “Well, everyone has things that they are naturally talented at. Like you with cooking. And...other things.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I had a feeling you were going to say something like that.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he said, holding his hands up in supplication.

“How long does it take the device to perform the test, anyway?” she questioned.

“It usually takes about five minutes, sometimes less. The internal computer has to analyze the test sample before it can make an educated estimate,” he answered.

They waited patiently while the machine worked it all out. After several minutes, it emitted a sharp _ping_ , signalling that the test was complete. The Doctor put on his glasses, and peered at the results. “According to the device, you’re approximately five weeks pregnant. So you were pregnant before I even gave you that fertility shot a few weeks ago. Imagine that.”

“Well I guess I’m just naturally fertile,” she replied.

“Maybe so,” he agreed, nodding his head.

“So,” she said, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers. “This thing has an infirmary. What else does it have?”

The Doctor chuckled. “Better ask what it _doesn’t_ have. There’s a pool, a library, a kitchen, bedrooms, a cricket pitch, a garden, all sorts of different things.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “And you built it all? How do you build something that’s bigger than the room you’re building it in?”

“Well,” he said, drawing the word out. “It’s not exactly built, per se. It’s actually grown.”

A confused look passed over her face. “How d’you mean grown? How can you grow a time machine?”

“A few years ago, I was traveling using the vortex manipulator, and I came across this planet that had naturally occurring psychic, transdimensional coral. Practically anything, even living things, can be hacked if you have the right codes. I took a sample of the coral back to Gallifrey with me, and began running experiments on it. Eventually, I figured out a way to sort of program the coral to grow in specific patterns. And that’s how the TARDIS was born.”

“You grew a time machine.”

“I grew a time machine,” he confirmed with a smile.

“But where did all the stuff come from? The furniture and all that. Did you drag it all in here by yourself?”

“Nah. The TARDIS, once it was properly ‘hacked’, can grow practically anything. Think of it like a 3D printer almost. If you have the right template, you can use it to make anything. The TARDIS works on a similar principle. Give it the template for a kitchen, and it will create a kitchen. Give it a template for a bedroom, it’ll create a bedroom.”

“But how? How does it read the templates? I don’t understand.”

He smiled wryly at her. “And you probably never will. It’s rather hard to explain in non-technical terms, and though you are quite intelligent, it would probably still go right over your head. Some things in life remain a mystery, and that’s okay. The day you know everything is the day life ceases to have meaning.”

“I suppose,” she replied uncertainly.

“Don’t worry about it. Not knowing doesn’t take the fun out of it, not really. All you need to know about the TARDIS is that it’s safe, and it can travel anywhere in time and space.”

“So...a pool. Fancy a swim?” she asked.

“We’re not dressed for swimming,” he replied. “And anyway, you don’t even have a bathing suit.”

“Yeah, I know. I figured we could swim naked,” she replied coyly.

The Doctor’s face split into a grin. “Oh Mrs. McCrimmon, I like the way you think.”

* * * * *

The Doctor waited until Harry’s back was turned to discreetly slip a few drops of the truth serum into his coffee. Harry turned back around and the Doctor plastered an innocent look onto his face.

“So what do you want, anyway? You never stop by my office,” Harry said.

“Oh, I was just going to invite you and Rani for dinner again. The last time I asked, you said you were busy,” the Doctor replied.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “Why would we come over to your house for dinner?”

“Because we’re family? And that’s what families do, they have dinner with each other,” the Doctor replied, shifting uncomfortably.

“You’re running on the assumption that we actually like each other. Which, obviously, we don’t,” Harry answered nastily.

“I know we haven’t always gotten along, but we are brothers. Well, half-brothers, but still. You’re pretty much the only living family I have left, I’d like it if we could start repairing our relationship. Besides...you’re also the only uncle my child will have.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Rose is pregnant?”

“Yep,” the Doctor replied, popping the ‘p’. “Just five weeks, we found out yesterday.”

“Well congratulations, I guess,” Harry said, not sounding even remotely sincere. They both knew what Rose being pregnant meant-that the Doctor would be able to challenge Harry and Rani’s attempts to take control of the business.

“And what about you guys? How are things going with the surrogate?” the Doctor asked amiably.

A sour look crossed over Harry’s face. “Things with the surrogate fell through. We’re looking into adoption instead.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” the Doctor replied, barely concealing his glee. “Still, there’s a lot to be said for adoption. You’re giving a child who wouldn’t otherwise have one a chance at having a home and a family. That’s rather noble of you two.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I’ll have to talk to Rani about dinner. If you didn’t need anything else, I have work to be getting back to,” Harry replied brusquely.

“Oh, no worries. I’ll just pop by later, after you’ve had a chance to talk to her about it,” the Doctor said cheerfully, getting up from his chair.

Harry watched him disappear out the door. He knew the Doctor was up to something, but he didn’t know what. There was no love lost between the two of them, and up until now, the Doctor had shown no interest in trying to maintain a relationship with himself and Rani. What could that smarmy, smug bastard be planning?

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and turned back to the report on his computer screen. He’d worry about it later.

* * * * *

Alba was waiting anxiously by the front door when the Doctor got home. She sprung to her feet when she heard the clicking of his key in the door. “Well?” she asked, eagerly when he’d stepped inside the penthouse. “Did you do it? Did you dose Harry with the truth serum?”

“I did indeed,” he replied with an infectious grin. “And not only that, I got him to admit to stealing the vortex manipulator. I recorded the confession, and turned it into the authorities. Harry’s been made redundant, himself and Rani have been kicked off the board of trustees, and he’s going to jail for stealing the vortex manipulator. The company takes theft of property, intellectual or otherwise, very seriously. Harry’s going away for a very long time.”

Alba squealed with delight. “Oh, that’s brilliant! So does that mean…?”

“Yes. I have complete control of the company now, with no one to challenge my authority. The business is mine, unequivocally. I did it, I actually beat Harry at his own game.”

“Well, this is definitely cause for celebration,” Alba declared.

“What did you have in mind?” the Doctor replied.

She raised her eyebrows at him suggestively, and began tugging him down the hall towards the closet.

“Oh, I was hoping it was going to be something like that,” the Doctor said with a grin.

* * * * *

“I’ve been thinking,” Alba said, as they were laying in bed next to each other.

“Oh?” the Doctor replied. “So that’s what that burning smell was.”

Alba slapped his chest playfully. “Shut up, you chav.”

“Oh, relax, I was only teasing. Anyway, what have you been thinking about?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Alba said slowly. “That I’d like to get a job.”

The Doctor turned onto his side so he could look her in the face. “A job? What for? I’ve got plenty of money, especially now that I have complete control of the company. There’s no need for you to work-I’m perfectly capable of providing for the both of us. Well, the three of us, actually,” he amended.

“Yeah, I know. It isn’t about the money, honestly. I’d just like to get out of the house more often, y’know? There’s only so much cooking, cleaning and reading a girl can do before she starts to go spare. Besides...I live here now. Gallifrey is my home. I want to be a part of it, a part of society. And anyway, with Harry in jail, what’s the danger in me leaving the house on my own?” she said.

The Doctor seemed to ponder this. “I’m sure I could probably get you at job at my company. Being the man in charge does come with its benefits.”

“I don’t want to work with you, or have you get me a job. People will think I get special treatment just because I’m your wife. I want to strike out on my own, find something I could maybe enjoy doing. At least until the baby comes. After that, I suppose I’d need to stay home again,” she countered.

“You really want to get a job?”

“Yes.”

The Doctor sighed, and scrubbed at his face. “I have a very hard time saying no to you. I suppose if you wanted to find something part-time, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” Alba exclaimed, throwing her arms around him as best as she could with them both laying down.

“Well, it’s your prerogative if you want to become a wage slave like the rest of us. If you change your mind and decide you’d rather stay home or come work for me, just let me know.”

“If I change my mind, you’ll be the first one to know,” she said with a smile.

“Alright then. Any other requests?” he asked wryly.

“Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking it might be nice if we could get a dog,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You want a dog?”

“Well, yeah,” she replied. “Having a pet is good for your health. Besides, it’d be nice to have the companionship.”

“Who’s going to take care of the dog if we’re both working?” he asked.

“Jack, of course. He does everything else for you, I don’t see why a dog would be a problem,” she answered.

“I suppose,” he said with a sigh. “What kind of dog would you want?”

“Well, definitely not one with no nose. That’d just be weird. I was thinking a dachshund, or maybe a corgi? A lap dog, nothing really big.”

“Hmm,” the Doctor said, pondering this. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind having a dachshund. I mean, they are pretty cute. What color would you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t suppose it really matters. Chocolate, maybe? Or black and tan,” she replied.

“If we did get a dog, I’d probably want a female. Males are prone to marking, sometimes even after you have them neutered,” the Doctor said matter of factually. “And I’ll be damned if I live in a place that smells like a zoo.”

Alba laughed. “Fair enough. Female doxie it is. Now we just have to think of a name.”

 

“Something German, maybe, would be appropriate. Katja, Cassie, Kikka, Clara…”

Alba wrinkled her nose. “Clara? No thanks. Kikka might be cute, though. Anyway, why’d you pick names that all have a ‘c’ or ‘k’ sound?”

“I don’t know, because they feel more German?” he replied.

“Is it really necessary for the dog to have a German name?I mean, isn’t that a little obvious?”

“I guess,” the Doctor replied with a shrug. “What would you suggest as alternatives?”

“If we got a chocolate dachshund, we could name her Cocoa,” Alba suggested.

“Like Coco Chanel, the French fashion designer?”

“No, not like the French fashion designer. Like the hot beverage people like to enjoy in front of fires during the winter,” she replied, as though it were obvious. Which, it kind of was.

“Ah, cocoa. Like hot chocolate. Makes sense,” he said, stroking his chin. “Alright, yeah, Cocoa. I like it. Good choice.”

She beamed back at him. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Now,” he said, tracing his finger along the curve of her jaw. “Back to more pressing issues.”

“Such as?”

He pressed himself against her, and she could feel that he was quite aroused. “Ah. You literally meant ‘pressing’.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. “What can I say? Just being around you turns me on.”

“Well, if you must,” she said, her tongue poking its way between her teeth.

“Oh, I must,” he replied, caressing her breast.

“Well then, Mr. McCrimmon. What are you waiting for?”


	34. Wrapped Up in Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba interviews for a job. Later, she and Jamie come together. NSFW.

“So, Rose, why do you want to work here?” her interviewer asked, regarding her seriously.

Alba sat across the desk from Doctor Rudolph Bradford, the owner, manager, and practicing vet at The Dog Doctor and Sanctuary. A golden retriever was currently resting his head on her knee, looking up at her with deep brown pleading eyes. She scratched him behind the ears and he wagged his tail happily before sloppily licking her knee.

“Well, I just love animals. And they tell you to do what you love, love what you do, so I figured working with animals would be something I’d like to pursue,” she replied.

“And why should I hire you, over someone else with equal experience?’ the doctor asked, pushing his slipping round-framed glasses back up onto his beaky nose.

“Because I’m a dedicated and reliable worker. You can always count on me to be on time or early for every shift, and it will always be with a smile on my face. I’m compassionate, towards both people and animals, and I have plenty of experience working with the public and doing customer service. I’m also very good at organizing and time management. I think I have all the necessary qualifications for the job. And I’d really love to work with you to help animals,” she answered.

“If you did get the position, your primary duties would include answering the phone and taking appointments, making sure to allow time between appointments so that no waits too long, maintaining the waiting room, making sure the dogs who live here all have access to food and water, and occasionally, you may need to walk them if the regular dog walker calls out sick. Think you can handle all that, Rose?” the doctor questioned.

“I believe I’m more than capable of doing all that and more, if necessary. I will strive to both meet and exceed your expectations of me,” she replied.

“Well then Rose, welcome aboard,” he said, extending his hand to her across the desk.

She shook his hand heartily. “Thank you so much, sir. I promise, you won’t regret it.”

“I don’t expect I will. But even still, you’ll be on probation for the next ninety days. After the ninety days are up, I’ll do an employee and either extend to you a permanent position at the practice, or wish you good luck and goodbye and send you on your merry way.”

“What kind of hours will I be working here?” Alba asked.

“Monday through Friday, nine am to five pm. We’re not open for business on the weekends, and I have a girl who comes in regularly and takes care of the resident dogs on Saturdays and Sundays. The pay is fifteen credits an hour to start with, raised to twenty credits an hour if you become a permanent employee. And if there are any dogs in the Sanctuary that you are interested in, you’ll be given first priority in adopting them.”

“I don’t suppose you have any dachshunds or corgis right now?” she asked, avoiding the impulse to chew her fingernails.

“Not at the moment, no. But we do some outreach with a couple of rescue groups in the area, and there is one that specializes in dachshunds. I could give you the information for the group, if you’re interested,” he said.

“Oh yes please. My husband and I have been wanting to adopt a female dachshund. We were just talking about it the other week,” she said.

“Do you have any other pets?” he asked her.

“No, this would be our first and only. It’s just me and my husband for right now,” she replied.

“No children yet then, I’m guessing,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I just ask because dachshunds can be funny sometimes when it comes to kids. If they’re raised up with them from the get go it’s not usually so much of a problem. But when a new baby is introduced into the family, they either become very jealous of it, or overprotective, sometimes to the point where they won’t allow one parent or the other to approach the baby. And sometimes, they’re just fine with it. There are exceptions with every rule, of course. I just wanted to mention it so that you’re aware, that’s all.”

“How’d you know I was pregnant?” she asked, her hand drifting down unconsciously to rub her abdomen.

“Your gait. Your hips have already begun to widen slightly in anticipation of birth , and it shows in your gait. I was a forensic anthropologist for fifteen years, before I became a vet,” he said.

“Is that going to be a problem?” she asked. “My being pregnant?”

“Not if you don’t make it one. If I cared, I wouldn’t have offered you the job. I’m counting on you being honest though when you say that you’re reliable,” he said. “Obviously, I know you’ll have to go on leave at some point, and that’s alright. I can get my daughter to cover your position in the short term, if necessary, to allow you to spend time with your baby. You could come back part-time, and then bump back up to full-time when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Doctor, I’ll do my best,” she said with a smile. “So, you were a forensic anthropologist for a long time before switching careers. Why’d you decide to become a vet instead?”

“I wanted to practice on living, breathing patients. By the time people got to me, they were just bones, occasionally some skin and organs. There was so little left I could do for them, besides try to put them back together and figure out how they became the way they were. But I grew tired of death and wanted to help others, and I’ve always loved animals, so it seemed a natural leap for me,” he replied. “Been doing it for over twenty years now.”

“You look good for your age, Doctor,” she said sincerely.

“Thank you, dear,” he beamed. “That’s nice of you to say so. Anyway, what’s today? Friday? Let’s say you start on Monday, brand new pay period. Is that too soon for you?”

“No, not at all. I look forward to diving right into it. Thank you so much for your time, Doctor Bradford,” she said, shaking his hand once again.

“The pleasure was all mine, dear, the pleasure was all mine.”

* * * * *

“So spill it girl, how’d it go?” Jack asked eagerly as Alba got into the hover car. He waited for her to buckle her seat belt before pulling up and away from the vet’s office and piloting a course back home.

“I got the job,” she said, her tongue poking its way through her teeth. “I start Monday of this upcoming week.”

“Really? That’s awesome! Good for you, Rosie. How’s the pay? Is it decent?”

“Fifteen credits an hour, forty hours a week, to start. If I become a permanent employee, he’ll increase my pay to twenty credits an hour.”

Jack frowned. “That doesn’t sound like part time. That sounds an awful lot like full-time.”

“So? Jamie and I will be working practically the same hours, except he’ll leave earlier than me in the mornings. Our schedules will sync up perfectly, we’ll both get home round about the same time. I can still be home early enough to make dinner, and the vet’s office is just a tube ride away from the penthouse. It’s perfect, exactly what I wanted. Something to keep me busy during the day. And I’ll have plenty of free time in the morning, because I’m usually an early riser,” she defended.

“Fair enough,” he conceded.

“Well, I’m glad I have your approval, dad,” she said sarcastically.

“You don’t need my approval. I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.”

“Yeah? Well, I can look out for myself. I appreciate it, but I don’t want to be coddled, Jack.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Coddling you?”

“You sound like you don’t trust me to make my own decisions for myself. I’m perfectly capable of deciding what’s best for me. I think I know better than a man, at any rate,” she said wryly.

“Alright, point taken. Sorry,” he said with chagrin.

“If you were really sorry, you’d take me for ice cream. And waffles.”

“Is that so?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Mmmm, ‘fraid so,” she replied, shaking her head ruefully.

“What about ice cream on top of waffle cones?” he suggested.

“I suppose that would be an acceptable substitute,” she sniffed.

Jack sighed dramatically. “Is this what you do to the Doctor, to make him bend to your wiley feminine ways?”

Alba laughed. “Hardly. I just pick my battles with him, that’s all.”

“Alright, you want ice cream? I’ll give you ice cream,” Jack said, turning the hover car abruptly.

Alba gasped, and slid across the seat into the door. “The hell?! What are you doing? You’re going to get us killed!”

“Not enough close doll, my reflexes are cat-like. We’re going back the way we just came. The best ice cream in the city is literally just across the street from the vet’s office. Spanelli’s Italian Bakery and Homestyle Creamery. They sell cannoli, and tiramisu, and other Italian desserts, and all the ice cream is homemade, over twenty flavors.”

“Oh. I can see that maybe being a problem in the future.”

“And why’s that?” he questioned.

“Because I’ll probably gain thirty pounds in ice cream alone,” she laughed. “And that’s not even starting on the cannoli.”

* * * * *

That night, Alba and the Doctor were lying on the bed stark naked, luxuriating on top of the ridiculously expensive and silky blue sheets they’d received as a wedding gift from one of his older, wealthier cousins. They were wrapped up wholly and completely in each other, both literally and metaphorically, as each of them saw only the other. He was half straddling her, his lean, strongly-muscled thigh pressed tight against her own comparatively creamy pale and soft one, his arm thrown loosely over her shoulder, while her own arm wrapped under his and draped lightly across his back, her fingers massaging gently, absently at the tight band of muscles bunched there under her hand. They were joined at the lips as well as the hips, their tongues tangling passionately together in an an ever constant, urgent quest to completely taste every lush, red part of each other. She could feel his growing arousal pressing hotly and insistently against her sex, the engorged head of his cock just barely nudging at her already damp folds. She flushed with heat at the slight, intimate touch and felt a rush of sticky warmth from between her legs. Her rolled her onto her back and settled carefully between her thighs, wasting no time taking himself in hand and lining himself up with her entrance, where she was waiting, hot and aching for him. She inhaled once, sharply in anticipation, and then he was pushing up and inside of her tight, wet velvet heat.

“Oh fuck, Rose,” he groaned softly, his lips pressed firmly against the side of her neck.

“Jamie,” she purred in response, knowing he loved it when she called him by his nickname, raking her nails up and down his back and over his bum, before finally locking her ankles tightly behind him, urging him deeper into her body with a satisfied little sigh of relief.

He ground his pelvic bone against hers, stroking down against her rather than up and into her. He kept this up for a while, balancing himself on his hands placed on either side of her trembling body. He was breathing heavily with the exertion, and sweat beaded up on his brow and dripped down onto her face like stray, salty tears. She did not bother to brush them away, because a moment later he reached out and swiped his thumb across both her cheeks, effectively wiping the sweat away. He inclined his head down to capture her lips again with his own, sucking her lower lip possessively into his mouth and nibbling on it gently until she opened completely to him and issued a small, pleading moan from the back of her throat in response. His head dipped lower, kissed briefly along her jawline before he bent down and sucked first her left nipple into his mouth, then the right, nipping and sucking enthusiastically at both of them in turn until they had both pulled into taut pink, aching peaks under his careful ministrations. He felt her body go stiff underneath of him, and then begin to shudder with wanton pleasure. He shifted against her, propping her legs up on his shoulders so that he could thrust deeply into her. His head hung over her chest, the ends of his stiffly spiked hair tickling softly against her flushed, dewy skin. His rhythm became increasingly more erratic as he approached his own climax, and he thrust several more times deeply and urgently, before finally emptying himself into her with a ragged, breathless exaltation. He collapsed against her, still panting with the effort, his head pillowed on her gently heaving breasts. They lie together like that for several minutes before the Doctor eventually heaved himself off of Alba and onto the pile of pillows behind him on the bed. He reached out and took her hand in his own, threading his fingers through hers and squeezing gently.

“I love you,” she whispered to him through the dark.

“I love you, too,” he said, reaching out to pull her tightly against him. He pulled the sheets up from underneath of them and tucked them loosely around their bodies before reaching down to pull up the coverlet, which was bunched up at the end of the bed. He pulled it up and it drifted down over them, settling softly over them and keeping them wrapped in its pillowy embrace.


	35. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

Life was unimaginably good.

Alba’s three month long probation period had flown by in a flash. She had settled into an easy routine at the vet’s office, and she genuinely liked both her coworkers and the merry menagerie of dogs that were permanent residents there. Each of them had a different personality, but all of them were endearing in their own individual ways, and she came to love them all. She didn’t even mind having to walk and clean up after them when Jordan, the regular dog walker, called out sick. When Dr. Bradford offered her a permanent full-time position at the practice, she accepted it without even needing to think about it. Although the Doctor hadn’t initially been thrilled at the prospect of her working full-time while pregnant, he had gotten over his misgivings when he saw how happy it made her 

After she’d been working there a few weeks, they had ended up adopting two red dachshund puppies, a brother and sister, that had come to the Sanctuary after their owner had suddenly died of a heart attack. After much deliberation on the topic of names, they finally christened the two dogs Artemis and Apollo. Both of them had taken to Alba immediately, and they followed her around the penthouse, like baby ducklings following after their mother. It took them slightly longer to warm up to Jamie, though they eventually did. Apollo would jump up onto the couch in the living room, position himself on an empty cushion, and then slowly but surely ooze his way over and into Jamie or Alba’s lap. Artemis was more wont to curl up on the tops of their feet. It became so comfortable, it felt like they had been doing this together for years, rather than a few short months.

Right before they had adopted the dogs, they went to Earth to visit Alba’s mother and announce their pregnancy. Andrea had been equal parts thrilled and concerned, since she was still under the impression that the Doctor worked for Doctors Without Borders and that part of his job was traveling to less than savory places. They both assured her that it was perfectly safe, though she, understandably, remained skeptical. Alba kept her mother updated the best that she could, using the hacked mobile phone to text Andrea sonograms of her first grandchild, the different names they were thinking of, new recipes she had tried, and little snippets of her every day life, as much as she could without giving away the actual truth of her whereabouts.

On the weekends, when neither of them were working, they would hop in the TARDIS, put on the randomizer, and go where ever it saw fit to take them. They visited Woman Wept, a world of ice that when viewed from above, looked like a woman in anguish curled in on herself. Alba stood on the frigid beach, looking out at waves that had frozen mid-crest, Jamie’s arms wrapped around her waist and his hands resting protectively over her belly. But that wasn’t even the strangest or most beautiful place they went. They saw the Diamond Coral Reefs of Kataa Flo Ko, the Fifteenth Broken Moon of the Medusa Cascade, the planet Barcelona, where the dogs had no noses. They visited feudal Japan, Victorian England, an impossible future space base orbiting a black hole. They witnessed the day the sun expanded and engulfed the Earth, reducing it to dust. They went back in time and saw Gallifrey as it had been when the first humans colonized it. The two of them grew closer and closer together, as Alba’s body grew gravid with their child.

“How long are you going to stay with me?” he had asked her one night as they were laying on the deep red grass, staring up at the stars in the sky.

“Forever,” she had answered immediately and without thought, reaching out to clasp his hand tightly in her own.

Harry was in prison, the company was Jamie’s, Alba had a job she loved, and they were going to have a beautiful baby. Neither one of them had a care in the world. Neither one of them could have ever imagined just how wrong things would go.

Alba was walking home from work on a Friday afternoon. Well, at this point in her pregnancy, it was more like waddling than walking, but she tried not to think too much about it. Instead, she was thinking about what to make for dinner that night, where they might go on their next trip in the TARDIS, whether or not she could convince Jamie to take her to Andrea’s for a quick visit. She was deep in her thoughts when a cherry red hover car with tinted windows pulled up next to her on the street. The window rolled smoothly down, revealing a face she was less than thrilled to see. It was Rani. The last time she had seen her had been at her and Jamie’s wedding, and she was barely recognizable now. Her dark brown hair hung in lank drifts around her pasty face, and there were deep shadows underneath her eyes. She was dressed in all black, and wearing black leather gloves over her hands, despite the moderately warm weather. She looked like she had seen better days. Given what had happened to her husband, Alba supposed she had.

“Rose! Thank goodness I found you. Listen, you have to come with me. There’s been an accident at the lab, and the Doctor was injured.”

Alba stopped on the pavement and stared skeptically back at Rani. “So why are you here? Where’s Jack?”

“Jack is at the hospital with the Doctor. He sent me to come find you. Listen, we shouldn’t delay-it was a rather serious accident.”

Alba whipped out her phone, and quickly dialed Jack’s number. It rang several times before going to voicemail. She frowned down at the phone, and looked back up at Rani. “I don’t believe you. Jack would never send you to get me. I hope you don’t actually think I’m stupid enough to believe a line when I hear one. Piss off.”

Rani pursed her lips. “You’re making a very big mistake.”

“Yeah, well you would say that, you harpy,” Alba shot back. She continued walking. She was just beginning to dial Jamie’s office number when she felt something cold and metal dig into her back.

“If you scream, I will blow the baby right out of you, here on this street,” Rani hissed in her ear. “Now you’re going to get in the hover car, and you’re not going to say a bloody word. Got it? Just shake your head, don’t say anything.”

Numbly, Alba nodded her understanding.

“Good,” Rani said, taking her firmly by the elbow and steering her back to where the hover car was parked. She kept the gun pressed against the small of Alba’s back the entire way. Alba shot pleading looks at the people they passed on the street, but none of them seemed to notice her silent cry for help. Rani opened the door and shoved her roughly into the passenger’s seat before walking back around the front of the car and taking her place on the driver’s side.

“Where are you taking me?” Alba asked when they were in the air.

“What part of ‘you’re not going to say a bloody word’ did you not understand?’ Rani answered nastily.

At that moment, Alba’s mobile began jingling. Jack’s name and face popped up on the screen. Rani reached over, snatched the phone from Alba’s grasp, and hurled it into the back seat. It bounced impotently off the rear windshield and fell onto the floor, well out of reach. There was no way she could attempt to retrieve it without Rani seeing her. She clasped her hands in her lap, twirling her thumbs nervously. She had no idea what was coming next, but she knew it couldn’t be good. Rani drove dangerously fast, skirting around other vehicles, garnering angry honks from the other drivers. Since the windows were tinted, there was no way for Alba to even signal any of the other hover cars they passed. She was well and truly trapped. She swallowed thickly in nervous anticipation. She didn’t recognize the landscape unfurling beneath them. Where was Rani taking her and what was she planning on doing?

Alba estimated they had been driving about half an hour when Rani stopped the car outside a giant building, surrounded by a protective glass dome. She got out of the car, taking the keys with her, and unlocked the gate. They drove through, and she got out once more to lock it behind them. She pulled up to a loading dock, and stopped the hover car. From the looks of it, they were outside some kind of warehouse. Rani muscled Alba out of the car and began dragging her up the stairs, the gun clutched in her other hand. For fear of getting herself or the baby hurt, Alba couldn’t put up much resistance.

“Don’t bother trying to run, there’s nowhere for you to go,” Rani said, temporarily releasing her so that she could fumble with a ring of keys. She unlocked the door to the warehouse and shoved Alba over the threshold, into the darkness within. The place stank to the high heavens, and Alba gagged. She bent over at the waist, dry heaving weakly until the feeling of nausea had passed. Suddenly, the warehouse was flooded with light. Rani was standing next to the switch, surveying the space with a pleased look. Alba looked around, taking it all in.

The warehouse was filled with fifty gallon drums, most of them bearing the tell tale skull and crossbones symbol that indicated the contents were toxic or poisonous. In the center of the vast space was a single metal folding chair and a pile of rope. Alba swallowed. She had a pretty good feeling (or rather a bad one) that the chair and the rope were meant for her. Rani jammed the gun against the small of her back and guided her towards the chair, confirming her suspicions. She could do nothing more than sit helplessly while Rani used the rope to secure her to the chair. The fiber of her bindings bit into her ankles and wrists, chafing the delicate skin there raw. She put on her bravest, most stoic face. She was determined not to crumble in front of her captor, even if she was about to lose her life, which seemed pretty likely, given the circumstances.

Rani began pacing back and forth in the space around the folding chair, muttering to herself. She still held the gun limply in one hand.

“Where are we?” Alba finally worked up the courage to ask.

Rani stopped her pacing, and trained the gun on Alba. “We’re in an abandoned warehouse, owned by McCrimmon Industries. Very few people are even aware this place exists anymore, so it’s unlikely we’ll be interrupted. Even better...when they arrested Harry, they took all of his keys. None of them even suspected that I had made copies, a foolish assumption on their part. When they finally find your body, after an anonymous tip from me, your husband will be the number one suspect.”

“So you’re going to kill me?” Alba asked.

Rani chuckled darkly. “What do you think?”

“You’ll never get away with it. You took me in broad daylight, in the middle of the street. People saw me get into your car. They’ll know you did it.”

Rani snorted derisively in response. “Not bloody likely. Everyone knows how unreliable eyewitness testimony is. People don’t pay attention when they believe everything is fine. I’d be surprised if anyone even remembered seeing you today. No, the most likely suspect will be your precious Doctor. After what happened to his first wife and daughter, it’s not going to look very good for him. He’ll end up in the same prison he sent Harry to, where he’ll rot for the rest of his pathetic, lonely life.”

“But why? Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain by killing me? It’s not like you’ll gain control of the company after what happened with the vortex manipulator,” Alba said, straining against her bonds.

“You think I care about that anymore? No, I know I can never take control of the company. This isn’t about that. This is about revenge. You and your precious Doctor ruined all our carefully laid plans, and now I’m going to make him suffer like he made me suffer. Oh, he’ll regret everything. He’ll regret ever spurning me!” Rani shouted, pounding her fist against her thigh.

Alba stared back at her, confused. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“It was years ago, but I never forgave and I never forgot. That smug bastard, Jamie, was my partner at the Gallifreyan Intelligence Agency. We were friends, or so I thought. He confided in me about his troubles with Romana, how he sometimes regretted having Susanna. I thought maybe he liked me, as more than a friend, and he was rich! I wanted in on that endless fortune. But when I propositioned him, he laughed in my face! The nerve of that man! He told me he’d sooner sleep with his sister, if he had one, before sleeping with me. We were just partners, nothing more, and he would never cheat on his wife, as much as they argued or fought. He embarrassed me. I vowed to make him change his mind, at any cost.

So I thought to myself, if only Romana were out of the picture, maybe that would change things. I didn’t mean to kill her and the baby, not really. I didn’t even know she would take the baby with her that day. It was supposed to just be a simple accident, brake failure, carefully engineered. I thought she’d end up in a coma, but things went awry and she and the baby were both killed on impact. And Jamie was never the same after that, after the accusations that he’d had something to do with their deaths. He left the GIA, and we fell out of touch. I started dating Harry, to try to get closer with him again, but him and Harry never really got along. Harry shared my aspirations for wealth, though, so we ended up getting married. I figured that was the only thing that might give me a shot at the McCrimmon fortune. And I was so close...so very close, when you and the bloody Doctor had to go and ruin everything!”

Alba stared at her, gobsmacked. “You were Jamie’s partner at the GIA? He never mentioned.”

“Well, of course not. Our work at the GIA is still classified. Oh but trust me, dear Rose, if you even knew some of the things we had done together, the sins we committed, it would curl your hair,” Rani chuckled mirthlessly.

“So it was _you_ all along, you who killed his wife and daughter? Over money? Are you bloody insane? Money isn’t the end all be all. It can’t buy happiness.”

“Whoever said money can’t buy happiness has obviously never been poor. There’s no poverty on Gallifrey, but there are definitely some who are considerably more wealthy than others. My parents were nothing special. They both worked menial jobs for meager pay. I vowed that I wouldn’t live like them, that I’d do better for myself.”

“So you thought to do better for yourself by killing a man’s wife and trying to trick him into loving you? Don’t talk to me about poverty, because I actually _did_ grow up poor. I ate Ramen noodles, I wore second-hand clothes, and I grew up on a council estate. And I can tell you for sure-money doesn’t buy happiness. Happiness comes from within, and from loving others, really loving them, not faking it. Although I’m not surprised that someone so obsessed with money and material things is too blind to see that,” Alba spat.

Rani advanced on her, brandishing her weapon wildly. She jammed the gun against Alba’s temple, and clicked off the safety. “Just shut up, you stupid kid!”

Alba ignored her, and plowed onwards calmly. “What I don’t get though, is why Harry would kidnap me if you were trying to take control of McCrimmon Industries? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Harry kidnapped you because there is significant money to be made in the black market slave trade. He didn’t select you himself-he was sent to get you by your mother’s debtors. Neither one of us had any idea that the Doctor would end up going to that very same slave exchange and finding you there.”

“You’re mad. Completely insane,” Alba said, still squirming against the ropes. There was almost no give to them, and they were beginning to cut off her circulation.

“Enough of your petty little questions. Time to be silent now,” Rani said, cocking the gun.

“Drop it,” a steely voice echoed through the warehouse. Rani and Alba both turned to see the Doctor standing by the doorway, holding a gun of his own.

“You!” Rani hissed. “How did you find me?”

He stepped forward, keeping the gun trained on her. “I put a microchip in Rose’s phone. When she didn’t come home and she didn’t answer, I knew something was wrong, so I looked up her location. Imagine my surprise when the tracking information pointed here. I knew there was no way she could’ve found this place at random, so I came out to investigate. Now drop the gun, Veranika.”

“Dream on, arsehole,” Rani hissed, turning back to Alba. Before she had a chance to pull the trigger, a shot rang out. Blood erupted in a burst from Rani’s shoulder, and she collapsed to the ground, screaming and clutching at her wound, her gun forgotten on the ground. The Doctor wasted no time running across the warehouse to the chair where Alba was bound. He took out a pocket knife, and began slicing through the ropes binding her to the chair.

“Are you alright?” he asked, paying no mind to the woman who was bleeding and thrashing around on the floor.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little shook up, that’s all. If you had gotten here a moment later, I would’ve…” she croaked, her voice breaking.

“Shh, don’t even say it, because it didn’t happen,” he said, gathering her into his arms. He looked down when he felt something pulling on his ankle.

“Just finish the job, you coward,” Rani hissed, leaving bloody fingerpaints on the hem of his trousers.

The Doctor was still holding the gun loosely in his right hand. Rani’s gun was at his feet, and he kicked it, sending it spinning off and into a pyramid of neatly stacked chemical drums. He pointed his own gun at Rani’s head, and his hand began to waver. Finally, it dropped back down to his side. “No. That’s your way, and I won’t do it. You can rot in prison with Harry for the rest of your pitiful existence, for all I care. But I won’t become like you.”

In the distance, there was the sound of sirens. Alba sighed in relief, and sagged against Jamie, who wrapped his arms tightly around her. The nightmare was finally over.


	36. Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter.

Lily Suzette McCrimmon was a stunningly beautiful baby. She had the best of both of her parents features-her mother’s deep, honey-colored eyes and porcelain complexion, her father’s tousled brown hair and cheeky grin. Currently, she was nestled between her parents on their bed in the TARDIS, peacefully sleeping. Her passage into this world had evidently tired her out, and she slept soundly under her parents’ exhausted but vigilant gaze. Her birth had come as a surprise-she had been born two weeks early. 

Alba and the Doctor had been taking one last holiday before the baby was born, on a luxury planet that looked just like old Earth’s Bora Bora, complete with tranquil blue waters and huts on stilts over the sea. Maybe it was the gentle rhythm of the ocean that spurred things along, but after walking along the beach for a while, Alba began complaining of a deep pain that started in her back and radiated through to her abdomen. The Doctor had known immediately that she was having contractions, and he had quickly hustled her off the beach and straight into the TARDIS infirmary, where he’d installed her in a bed where he could monitor her vital signs. He gave her a little pink pill to speed along the labor process and ease the pain of contractions. Three gruelling hours later, she was propped up on her elbows, tears streaming down her face as the Doctor, positioned between her legs, encouraged her to ‘push!’. She mentally shoved her pain to the side, and pushed with everything she had in her. A lusty cry pierced the air, and there was Jamie at the end of the bed, holding their daughter in his arms, a soppy expression on his face. After she expelled the after birth, he had cleaned both her and the baby up, and sequestered them to their bedroom on the TARDIS, which had conveniently moved itself to right outside of the infirmary, along with the nursery.

“I was born with a full head of hair too, you know,” he commented lightly, brushing his hand through the baby’s hair.  
.  
“Hmmm?” Alba muttered sleepily beside him. “Were you now?”

“I was,” he replied, his hand still resting against Lily’s forehead. “There are probably pictures, somewhere. My mother was fastidious about that when I was a child. I have her old photo albums in storage somewhere.”

“I’d pay to see those,” Alba said with a faint smile.

“Okay, say about 100 credits per photo?” he replied innocently.

She smacked him. “Don’t you even start with me, mister. I’ve had a bloody long day.”

“Indeed you have,” he conceded, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “But you did beautifully. You brought our daughter into this world, and she’s perfect, just like her mother.”

“Flatterer.”

“Oi! I meant what I said, and I said what I meant...oh wait a minute, that’s Dr. Seuss.”

Alba rolled her eyes good naturedly at him. “If you could only hear yourself sometimes, Jamie.”

“I honestly don’t know how you put up with me,” he said, leaning across the baby to plant a kiss on Alba’s lips. She returned the kiss, flicking her tongue against his lower lip before thrusting it into his open mouth.

“Oh, I manage,” she finally said with a chuckle. “I’m mostly used to your quirks by now, anyway.”

“My quirks?” he said as he raised his eyebrows. “Such as…?”

“How you always run your hands through your hair or pull at your ear and rub your chin when you are nervous. The methodical way you eat your food, taking a bite of each item in turn until you finish. How you always check the front door at least three times to make sure it’s locked before you come to bed. How you take your tea with exactly one squeeze of lemon and a spoon and a half of sugar. The way your toes curl when you come. I could go on, but I think you get the point,” she said wryly.

“The way you say all that, you make it sound like I have some sort of neuroses,” he pouted.

Alba shrugged dismissively. “I don’t think it’s neurotic, not really. I find your little idiosyncrasies charming. They are part of what makes you you. Besides, I’m sure I have quirks of my own too.”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed, nodding his head in agreement.

Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows at him. “Quirks such as…?”

“Such as the way your tongue always pokes its way through your teeth when you smile at me. The soft little sighs you let out when you’re drifting to sleep-which are completely adorable, by the way. The way you eat a chocolate bar, breaking off one little piece at a time and slowly savoring it. How you always put on your knickers before your bra when you get dressed. The way your eyelashes flutter when you have an orgasm. I could go on, but I think you get the point,” he said, echoing her own words back at her. “And yes, I do find those things charming, before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” she lied.

He smirked knowingly at her. “Sure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!” she insisted.

“Uh huh,” he replied, clearly not convinced.

She stuck her tongue out at him and blew a raspberry his way. He laughed, and bent his head to capture her lips. “We’re going to wake the baby if we don’t quiet down,” he warned, brushing his thumb across her cheek.

“I highly doubt it. She slept through you accidentally rolling off the bed reaching for your water glass. How’s your tailbone, by the way?”

“It’s fine, no thanks to you,” he replied, absently rubbing at the spot in question. “Bruised my ego more than anything, with the way you laughed at me.”

Alba snickered unapologetically. “I’m sorry, I really couldn’t help it. Blame the drugs. You looked so funny, your arms pinwheeling all over the place and that look of total shock on your face. And then you squawked, like a chicken. I may not have traveled through the entirety of time and space, but I don’t know of a single planet where that wouldn’t be considered funny.”

He huffed at her in annoyance. “I’m so glad my pain is amusing to you.”

She shot him a withering look. “Listen buddy, don’t even start with me on the pain you’ve suffered today. Try squeezing something the size of a melon out of your body, through your manly bits, and then we can talk about pain.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded with a squeak. Between them, the baby stirred and yawned, but did not wake. Her mother’s hand resting lightly on her belly stilled her.

Alba’s expression softened. “She really looks so much like you, you know. Her facial expressions, the hair...that’s all you.”

“Ah, but she’s got your eyes.”

“Does she remind you of Susanna?” Alba asked, sotto voce.

“Nah,” he replied, his tone equally soft. “Susanna was born blonde, and she stayed blonde. She had blue eyes too, just like her mother. Honestly, she didn’t look much like me at all. Jack always teased me that she was the mailman’s baby. I suppose she could’ve been, and I’d never have known. I wondered about that sometimes. The one time I asked Romana about it, she was so offended she didn’t speak to me for over a week. I never had the courage to bring it up to her again. Whoever she looked like, Susanna was always my daughter, even if I took her for granted. But I will never do that again. Take a beautiful being that I helped create for granted. I feel like finding you was my second chance at a life I thought I could never have again-a family, mum and dad and baby, and they’re all happy. Are you happy, Rose?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” she replied with a smile. “My life before...I don’t want to say it was meaningless, because that’s not fair or true. But I was definitely drifting, without purpose. I was desperately searching for meaning in my life, for something that was bigger than myself, and I wasn’t ever going to find it working in a shop. Finding you, falling in love with you, having a baby with you, finding a job I actually love, those things have given me purpose. There is finally something bigger than myself, and that’s my family. You and Lily, Jack, Dr. Bradford, Artemis and Apollo. The family I chose to create, to become a part of. That means more to me than you could possibly know. Because that’s honestly all I’ve ever wanted, too-a mum and dad and baby, all of them happy. And now I have that. First, I had you. Then we had Lily. Now I have everything.”

He smiled back at her. “Oh Rose...Alba… _you_ have given me everything. Everything I could have ever hoped for in my wildest dreams, and more.”

“Not quite everything. I haven’t given you a son, not yet. I grew up an only child. It was kind of lonely. I always figured when I had children, that I would end up having more than one. A girl and a boy, that was how I always envisioned my perfect little fantasy family,” she confessed.

“Well, we have all the time in the world to make that happen,” he replied, the barest trace of a rakish grin playing across his lips.

“Yeah, except for the next two and a half years where we won’t be sleeping ever,” she replied, aware even as she was doing it that her tongue was poking through her teeth.

“Hey, I am optimistic of our prospects. Even babies have to eventually go to sleep sometime,” he declared. “Even if it is only for an hour or two at a time, that’s long enough to...you know,” he said, making a slightly rude gesture with his hand.

“Would you really want to do that, though? Raise two young children at the same time?” she asked, reaching out to tangle her fingers through his own.

“If you had asked me that question ten years ago, I would have said no way. But that was before I met you, and before we had Lily,” he admitted. “Now...I’ll give you as many damn babies as you want.”

“As many damn babies as I want, eh? We could have fifty children, like that couple with the reality tv show. And we could give them all flower or tree names. Just think-Aspen for a boy, Daisy for a girl. That’s two down, only forty-eight more to go,” Alba said, her expression completely serious.

The Doctor blanched. “Fifty?”

Alba laughed. “Oh god, Jamie, relax. I was only kidding with you. I’m not nuts. I don’t want to be pregnant for the next twenty-five years, and that’s assuming I had twins or triplets at some point. I’d be fine with two, maybe three children, tops. Any more, and it gets out of hand. I don’t want my children to have to make an appointment when they want to spend time with me, or you either, for that matter.”

He sighed in relief. “Just as well. I may be a stud, but I’m certainly not a rabbit.”

“No, definitely not a rabbit. Maybe more like a fox,” Alba suggested. “Or a tapir.”

“Tapir?!”

“It’s really entirely too easy to wind you up, you know.”

“On that note, when can we get cracking on the son front? I’m going to need someone to take my side once in a while.”

“You’re the doctor, you tell me.”

“They say you’re supposed to wait four to six weeks after birth before you have intercourse, to reduce the risk of tearing. But that’s a long time. A whole month, month and a half.”

“I believe you’ll survive, dear,” Alba said dryly.

“Suppose I will,” he sniffed dramatically. “Besides, we’ll probably be too busy not sleeping to have sex anyway.”

“Yeah, but it’s worth it though, isn’t it? We get her out of the bargain,” Alba said, brushing her hand across the baby’s head.

The Doctor smiled back at her. “Yeah, it’s worth it.”

“I love you, Jamie,” she said, stretching out over the baby to kiss him.

“Oh Alba, I love you, too.”

He looked fondly down on his little family, and thought to himself that they were going to be alright. No, better than alright.

They were going to be brilliant.


End file.
